


Uncovering a Secret

by starbunny



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Low Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos Daud, M/M, Pining, Post-Low Chaos Ending, Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-08-09 18:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 136,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7813141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbunny/pseuds/starbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Choked out and left on his bed, key and bone charm missing, Daud is left with more questions than answers. Against all odds, he and his whalers remain alive, all with no explanation whatsoever. And then a year after the group of ex-assassins leaves Dunwall to settle down in Serkonos, they are re-acquainted with the mysterious, quiet Royal Protector, who, for whatever reason, has come to Serkonos to occupy the room next to Daud's, and for whatever reason, doesn't kill any of them. Dunwall's Royal Protector is a frustrating mystery, and like all puzzles, Daud will take it upon himself to understand the strange creature that is Corvo Attano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this part is mainly for any future reader's benefit, but: I originally intended for the small details in this story to follow canon and the lore, to be as accurate as possible (except the obvious Corvo/Daud, which honestly isn't even the main focus of this story). Chances are, the small details in each chapter had a fair bit of research behind them to take care of accuracy, from the terminology used to real life historical details and of course, game details. 
> 
> This entire story is planned and written solely based on the first Dishonored game, the initial preview from The Corroded Man, speculative information from Dishonored 2, and of course, my own imagination. 
> 
> With the novels, comics and sequel game (yay!), I'm very sure that some things will not be as accurate as I would like them to be (which honestly bothers me more than it should), so if any character goes wildly OOC, or some detail is completely wrong, I hope you can still enjoy the story all the same :)

Kent likes the weather in Serkonos.

In Dunwall, it either rained or it didn't. Rarely does Kent get to see the sun, the moon, or the stars glistening like diamonds in the sky like he can in Serkonos.

He knows the others don't agree with him. They rather like the faint drizzle or complete downpour back in Dunwall; they claimed it gave the city some _character_.

It's been about a year since they'd left Dunwall, aboard a ship off to Serkonos, and not a day passes without Kent thinking of the metal city, all jagged edges and sharp corners. Serkonos is less metal, more…curved. Smooth lines and angled designs, carved into polished wood or stone. If Dunwall is a gloomy rigid guard, decked in a thick uniform, sword by the side, then Serkonos is the whimsical spouse, dancing in a flowing skirt, hair fluttering in waves.

Kent likes Serkonos, and he likes his new job more, and yet, the small bits of news of Dunwall he hears from sailors draw him in, drenching him in a thick pool of longing, a deep ache making his heart clench.

Today had been rather quiet, and Kent likes it. It means less business, of course, but money is not an issue, and he is glad to have some time to hum songs, whistle nostalgic tunes from Gristol.

He eyes the wooden clock at the end of the table, eyes focused on each tick and jerk of the clock hands. He tears his eyes away to look out of the large glass panels at the front of the clinic. An amber glow seeps through lazily, the faint warmth calling for Kent to go _home_.

He is thinking of a warm bowl of stew and the rich, bitter taste of good whiskey. He closes the worn leather book on the table, returning it back into a drawer. The pens go back into boxes, and he glances at the clock once more.

A smile inches its way to his face, and he stretches his arms, a sigh leaving his lips.

He gets off from the creaky chair, and moves over to the one wooden door in the clinic. His fingers barely touch the smooth knob, when-

It slams back into him, hard knock on his forehead.

Kent hisses at the blossoming pain, and the door stills with a creak, seemingly guilty at the unexpected assault. Kent's eyes are closed, and he rubs his head indignantly, a shard of frustration sinking in.

"We're closed." His voice comes out rough. "Whoever it is, you ca-"

And he stops.

His eyes are open, and the new presence wedged between the door stares back, blinking slowly.

Even without the telltale thick, high-quality coat, Kent can recognise this clean-shaven man a mile away. His long hair sits in layers, framing an angled face, with a pair of sharp brown eyes to complete the look.

"My apologies. This is urgent."

The man's voice is melodic, a smooth timbre, and it is downright pleasant to listen to. A small scar sits above his eyebrow, but the flaw is so minimal on his face.

Kent freezes.

He knows this man.

The man winces a little, eyes falling off Kent down to his arms, which are clutching something close to his broad chest.

The eyes rest back on Kent, and Kent dares not move, frozen still. The gaze is light, curious, his facial expression carefully neutral, but Kent swallows anyway, as a wave of fear roots him to the ground, pain in his forehead all but forgotten.

The eyes don't widen in recognition, and Kent shuffles back, quickly regaining his composure.

"What is it?" He asks.

The man pauses, weight shifting between both feet, and then Kent's eyes catch a movement between the man's arms.

There is a towel draped over… _something_ , something that is twitching and squirming in the man's large hands.

"It's…" The man walks to the table, and settles the blanketed shape down.

The towel comes off, and Kent can only stare blankly at what's underneath.

Two bright eyes, triangular tufts for ears, small body covered in black fur. 

A cat.

"…I'm not a veterinarian." Kent says carefully.

The man's lips tighten to a line, Kent's heart jumps at the motion.

"I know, but she's hurt."

Kent then sees the patch of blood soaked into the towel, and he sighs internally. He pulls on his gloves, and gingerly lifts the…cat's…paw. The man stands quietly by the side, watching.  
A large gash has opened at its belly, thick blood gushing out, so warm against his hand.

He opens another drawer, takes out a needle, thread, and his hand hovers over the box that holds numbing cream. He doesn't know if it works on cats, and he leaves it, quickly sterilising the needle.

He ties the first knot. The silence hanging in the air feels like a tangible thing, and it doesn't help that the man beside him is shadowed by dimming rays, looming over heavily.

"So…are you from here?" Kent asks, because the other option is cowering in a deathly silence under the watchful eyes of the man, and Kent needs a distraction.

"Yes. No." The answer comes out as a hum.

"Where did you find it-her?"

"She picked a fight with a stray wolfhound for food."

Kent snorts, his nimble fingers still working to stitch up the broken skin.

"Are you from here?"

The deep voice, although quiet, fills the room in a boom, weighing down on Kent's shoulders. Kent's hand tremors once, and he chances a quick glance up.

The gaze on him is piercing, penetrating…so sharp that it actually makes Kent's thoughts scurry away for fear of being read.

His eyes drop away instantly, but the suffocating pressure remains.

"So?" The man prompts, and Kent swallows.

"Uh…no." Kent replies.

The man remains silent after that, and goes to settle down in an empty chair across the room.

Kent's shoulders fall, just a little, and he quickly works on sealing the wound, his world narrowing to his fingers, and the broken skin of the small animal. The world returns back into view when a bandage is tied off, and Kent is once again aware of the man's eyes, so knowing, so heavy.

"How much?"

Kent freezes at the question, and he forces himself to release a shaky breath.

"Fifty coin."

The man pulls out the said amount and hands it over. Kent takes it, careful not to touch his hand, and deposits it into a metal box.

The man then walks over, and picks up the tiny cat, wrapping it in the towel. His hands are massive, calloused, but he is gentle, and the cat nestles back into his arms.

"Thank you."

The smile that etches on the man's face looks so out of place, and Kent stares, before he nods, because his throat feels too dry to say a single word. The man then opens the door and steps out, and Kent lets out a long sigh of relief.

Kent shoves the metal box in his bag, which makes a loud clattering noise, and he tries not to wince. He then slings his bag over his body, and ties the waste bag with a knot, before he finally retrieves the keys.

It is dark out already, and Kent silently hopes that his brothers will leave at least some stew for him. He locks the door behind him, and then freezes at the large mass standing in front of the shop.

He startles, his grip on the waste bag slackens, and it tumbles down to the ground. 

"Wh-why are you still here?" The question blurts out hurried, panicked, completely unintentional.

The man tilts his head to the side, and Kent can faintly make out the silhouette of his body. There is no large flowing coat, but he still cuts an intimidating figure, silent, poised, just like… _him_.

"I was wondering if you knew a good inn around." He says, voice still frighteningly stoic, spoken by one so unconcerned, while Kent is close to turning tail and making a run for it. Except that he _won't_ get away.

Kent picks back up the bag, trying to reel his nerves in.

"I uh…" Kent scans his surroundings. It is an unconscious action. There is nobody around. The place is deserted. If he screams-

"I'm...not going to hurt you." The man says with a resigned sigh.

Kent just remains paralysed, unable to move. _He knows_.

"I just want to know where an inn is." The man says softly.

"I-" Kent bites his tongue.

The man sighs once more, turns, and then Kent calls him back on impulse.

"Attano, wait. I-"

Kent once again stills when none other than Dunwall's Royal Protector stops in his tracks.

"There's...an inn. But it's run by…" Kent trails off.

There is a pause.

"…I don't mind." Attano says.

"Uh…right. Okay." Kent stammers off, picking up the waste bag and moving off.

The famed bodyguard follows, his footsteps unusually loud. It's probably for Kent's benefit, he thinks, because the lack of noise terrifies more than reassures, and this way, he can at least gauge how far Attano is from him.

Kent is regretting his decision by the time the fifth minute rolls by, with nothing more than the Royal Protector's footsteps to fill the air.

Attano isn't necessarily _feared_ by his brothers, more respected than feared, but Kent has always been timid around strangers, and it had taken years for him to be comfortable around his brothers.

The last he saw Attano, the man was poisoned, pale, very weak. Then a few hours later, Thomas reported his escape, and yet a few hours later, he was summoned back to his master's office. His master was pacing up and down, not unusual of course, but his face was contorted with pure confusion.

"The key's gone."

Was all his master said, all while rubbing his neck, grunting. Was he choked out? Kent didn't dare ask.

By the end of the day, his master and a few of the whalers were aboard a ship off to Serkonos, all while the loudspeakers were faintly blaring of Emily's return, and of Attano's innocence.

"Why…have you come to Serkonos?" Kent asks, turning back. He ducks back immediately when Attano looks at him.

Did he come here to kill his master? No, he had his chance back then, but didn't take it. What if he changed his mind-

Then Kent would be sending all his brothers- and master - to death.

Kent pales.

"A holiday. The…empress ordered me to take a few weeks off."

He seems faintly sheepish, which only serves to confuse Kent further.

"Are you-" He chokes on a glob of saliva and coughs.

"Are you alright?" The question comes right behind him, and Kent jumps back, still coughing.

The Royal Protector shuffles, the crumbling sound of sand grating against the floor feeling oddly like an apology.

"I- I'm fine." Kent forces out, taking a few steps back until the distance between them is more comfortable.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Attano repeats quietly.

Kent just breathes in, and out, and resumes walking. Hesitant footsteps follow, and Kent resolves not to look back and make a fool of himself like a damned child.

His brothers have asked his master about Attano once, during dinner, and his master turned very quiet, very still, like a wolfhound ready to attack.

The spoons clanking against the bowls became deafening, and each one of his brothers tensed up, knowing they had breached an unsaid boundary.

"I respect him." His master had said, in the gruff tone of his, and the lively chatter resumed a minute later.

Another few minutes pass in silence. 

"Are you here to kill Daud then?" Kent can't help but ask.

The Royal Protector stops in his tracks, and Kent peeks back, uncertain.

"…No." The reply is flat, and Kent can't even begin to guess what runs through the man's mind.

"I spared him. I'm not going back on that decision." Attano adds, and it seems sincere enough, although Kent can't be too sure.

They arrive at the inn after a left turn, the bright lights from within illuminating the road. Kent pauses, when a loud cheer erupts from the doors. He should probably tell his brothers - and his master - that Attano is here.

"Uhm…" Kent turns back, sees Attano staring back at him, the cat still huddled in his arms protectively.

"I should uh…" Kent tilts his head towards the inn. "Tell them that yo-"

"Hey! Kent's back!!"

Kent startles, a small yelp escaping him, as he swerves back to see a cheery Feodor at the doorway.

"We thought you got dragged off by that Serkonan girl again."

Kent flushes deeply.

"Who's tha…" he stops. "… _Fuck_!!"

The door slams back, rattling at the edges, and the flush only deepens. Kent hopes Attano can't see how red he has become.

"The fucking Royal Protector is out there!!" The yell is barely muffled, and a loud crash makes Kent jump.

There is hissing, another crash.

Then silence.

Kent casts a quick glance back at Attano. He is shuffling again, shifting the weight between both feet.

"Uh…" Kent is at a loss of what to do. "Uhm…I should check on them first..?"

Kent then scurries in, leaving the Royal Protector standing outside.

The tables are occupied by about ten of his brothers, and a chair lies on the ground, oddly splintered.

"Kent! You idiot!! Why is _he_ here?!" Feodor whispers aggressively. The young whaler, blond-haired, looks very alarmed, a huge contrast from the usual cheery demeanour he puts on all the time. 

"He…needed a place to stay, so-"

"He'll kill us!!"

"He said he wouldn't hurt us."

"And you believed him?!"

Kent is knocked on the head by Devon.

"I'm not here to kill anybody." The new voice, soft, yet somehow rising above the ruckus, makes everyone startle.

A painful silence follows, everyone's eyes trained on the Royal Protector, who has somehow - in a span of a few seconds, without anyone noticing - reached the second floor, and is staring back down at the frozen men.

Now that Kent has a clear view of the man, he notices that Corvo is wearing a thin white collared shirt, a grey coat (that comes to his hips), pants in a darker shade of grey, and leather boots. Simple clothes, nothing silken or fanciful like the embroidered clothes he wears in Dunwall. He's dressed like a middle-class Serkonan, acts like one too, in the way he slouches over the railings. But Kent knows, from stories told by his patients, that he can be imposing and very intimidating in court. 

Corvo’s hair is as long as Kent remembers, thick brown strands falling nearly to his shoulders. It doesn’t look messy though, it’s combed and neat. His gaze on the whalers is mild, nothing like the ice-cold, indifferent one he possesses when dealing with unreasonable nobles back in Dunwall. 

"Uhm…Cor-Lord Attano. It's…uh…a pleasure." Devon, the best quick-thinker among them, greets, in a balanced enough tone that it seems natural.

"You are…uh…very welcome here of course. Ah yes, very welcome."

Devon exchanges ferocious glares at his brothers, jabbing the one closest to him, and they all nod vigorously.

Attano looks down to the small bundle in his arms, and then asks,

"Do you have some hot milk?"

The question is bizarre for all except Kent, and Kent is the first to move.

"I'll get some."

Attano nods in thanks.

"Uhm…There's an empty room on the third floor. It's the second one on the left. The first is uhm…occupied." Devon tells him, and Attano briefly says a word of thanks, before disappearing up the stairs.

"You're another moron! You just gave him the room next to Daud's!" One of his brothers hisses.

"There are no other rooms available!!" Comes the indignant reply. 

Kent sighs as he heats up some milk on a stove, nerves still on overdrive. His brothers continue arguing, and Kent tunes it out, focusing instead on the milk. 

His brothers eventually quieten down, and by then, the milk is warm, almost boiling. He pours the milk into a shallow bowl.

The pot of leftover stew lies on the next stove. Has Attano eaten anything yet? Kent pauses for a while, before he gets another bowl and fills it with leftover stew. He places both bowls on a tray, and steps out of the kitchen.

He is stopped by Feodor at the doorway.

"Why is Attano here?" 

"He says he's on holiday."

"Holiday?" Devon snorts, popping in. 

Kent nods, and Devon's eyebrows raise.

"Wait, you're serious."

Kent is quiet.

"Oh, by the Void. _You're serious._ "

"Where-how did you meet him?"

"He…showed up at the clinic."

"He's injured?"

"No, not exactly. He brought in…a cat…who was injured."

A disbelieving pause.

"A cat?"

A nod.

" _A cat_?"

Nod again.

"So…what you're saying...is that the mighty Lord Protector, the very same person that makes nobles run out of meetings crying, brought in _an injured cat_ , for you to heal."

Kent feels so stupid nodding again.

"By the Void. This is absolutely ridiculous."

Kent tries not to blush, shrugs instead, walking past his two brother to bring the tray up the stairs before the milk goes cold.

His heart is palpitating by the time he's on the second floor, and he almost spills some stew at the third floor. He is thankful his master, Daud, is out. He doesn't think his nerves can go through any more stress for the day.

The door of the second room on the third floor is closed, ominously so, and Kent takes a deep breath before knocking.

The door opens after a few seconds, and Attano leaves the door open, retreating back into the room for Kent to come in.

Kent settles the tray down on the only wooden table in the room, and looks up at the man, who is leaning against the wall at a far corner, well aware of the distance he's placing between Kent and himself.

The thought that Attano is trying to make himself less intimidating is a strange one, and Kent banishes it from his mind as quickly as it comes.

"I brought some food for you, uhm, if you haven't eaten."

Attano is surprised, and then he smiles softly at Kent.

"Thank you, Kent."

His name rolls off Attano's tongue gently, as soft as a petal descending to the water surface. It reminds Kent that the same pleasant voice was forced to produce screams and yells of pain in Coldridge, until the man himself has no strength to even move. Kent shudders. It makes Attano’s mercy and neutrality even more admirable, and Kent decides he respects the man very much so.

He watches as Attano brings the milk to the small cat, who licks it tentatively when brought near. Attano's expression softens, and Kent can't help but think of the horrified expression he made when…Jessamine…was killed.

"Uhm…if you need anything else-"

Attano's eyes barely graze him, but Kent jumps as though he'd been stabbed. Attano blinks at the reaction, his eyes going even softer.

"S-sir." Kent adds, stammering.

"Corvo is fine."

"Uhm…right. Lord Corvo, I mean Corvo." The name gets stuck in his throat, and Kent thinks he doesn't have a right to say it. _Attano_ feels too honourable, too…good. Kent doesn't have the right to call somebody like that by first name.

"…Am I really that terrifying?"

The question is a surprise, and Kent has to pause to process it.

"N-no, I just...uhm…"

Kent flushes hard, the reaction clearly not unnoticed.

"…I don't do well with strangers."

Attano says nothing else, lays a hand over the cat, gently stroking it.

Kent thinks to leave; his brothers are probably dying to know what happened. Then he wonders how Attano figured out he was a…whaler.

"C-can I ask you something?"

"You may."

"How did you know I was a…" Kent trails off.

Attano's hand on the cat stills, and he looks up at Kent.

"The stitches. They're the same pattern as the scars on…Daud."

Kent's eyes dart to the cat. The gash is barely visible from the side. 

"You also acted strange when you first saw me. I just put two and two together."

Kent flushes a little once more. Attano gives no comment about it, and Kent decides to leave the man alone. He excuses himself, and heads back downstairs, his heart still racing.

Feodor is the first to say something when he appears back on the first floor. 

"Did…did he hurt you? Threaten you?" He asks, a furrow in his eyebrows.

"No. He was…" Kent struggles to find the right word. "…gentle."

"Gentle?" Devon quips in, raising an eyebrow.

"Forget about whether Attano is gentle or not. What in the fuck are we going to tell Daud when he comes back?" Thomas, who returned sometime when Kent was upstairs, joins in the conversation. 

"Attano said he wasn't going to kill him." Kent says, feeling an urge to defend the man, somehow.

"I'm not worried about Attano. It's _Daud_ that concerns me. Getting on people's nerves is an irritating habit of his." Thomas grumbles.

"Then we can hide it from him!" This _helpful_ suggestion comes from none other than Feodor, and even Kent rolls his eyes.

"Right, then one day we'll get murdered in our sleep." Devon scoffs.

They argue for a few more hours, before decidedly going straight to bed, knowing fully well that Daud won't return until hours later, and none of them wants to be there to explain to him why exactly, Dunwall's Royal Protector is occupying the room right next to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I know that cats don't actually drink milk past kitten-stage? 
> 
> ...Yes, yes I do. 
> 
> In fact, milk is pretty bad for a cat's diet. Adult cats are usually lactose intolerant. But as a kitten, they could probably drink goat's milk as a replacement for their mother's milk. No cow milk though.
> 
> Well anyway, thank you so much for reading!


	2. A Warning

Corvo is awake before anyone else, when the place is still dark and quiet. The air is faintly chill, still, and the way it rolls over Corvo feels soft. He jerks upright, closing his eyes. 

His body is covered in fresh sweat, his chest rising and falling, each breath sounding more like gasps than anything.

He then blinks wearily at the ceiling, which is foreign, two shades lighter than the one in Dunwall…until Corvo remembers that he's not in Dunwall. He's in Serkonos.

Corvo isn't unused to the nightmares, but it doesn't make the strain any less painful to endure. The macabre inventions of his sleeping mind is relentless, tormenting, a barrage of violence and blood, and Corvo is forced through it over and over, with no rest, no escape.

His waking hours aren't a recluse either. The sick dreams seep into his conscious mind, laughing as they reach down and sink poisonous fangs into his delicate soul. He knows he will have no peace. 

Emily worries for him, constantly asks him to rest, but Corvo just _can't_. The fatigue that plagues him is bone-deep, and it isn't an effect from lingering wounds and aches. Emily’s rule is still hanging precariously, and Corvo won’t allow himself to fall apart, not while the plague still ravages the city, not with the smell of death still in the air. He only gives in this time, when the plague is finally eradicated, and the noble circles have temporarily quietened down. For once, they can all agree that the cure is a good thing. 

And Corvo finally yielded to his daughter's request of taking a short holiday, to cool off and relax. It is only two weeks, but part of Corvo is desperate to go back to return to his duties. He won't let Dunwall crumble again, he won't let Jessamine's legacy fall to ashes.

He continues to lie on the bed, stiffer than the one in Dunwall, but softer than the one in Coldridge. He has no meetings to attend, no patrols to do, and the lack of routine burns its way into his mind, until Corvo is too restless to lie still. He needs to move.

Picking Serkonos had been an obvious choice for him. He'd known (from his informants), that Daud and his whalers currently reside there, but that isn't the reason why Corvo decided to go there. He likes Serkonos, misses the food and people, and it feels like home. 

He dresses himself, in a fresh set of clothes he'd bought at the market a day ago. Residing here with the whalers - and Daud - wasn't planned either, but Corvo doesn't mind it. They don't have a reason to go after him, and Corvo has no reason to kill them either, not unless they give him a reason to. 

He spares a glance at the cat, who's fast asleep, nestled in blankets. She looks young, innocent, and when Corvo saw her bleeding out near the river bank, he ended up taking her in, unable to watch such a vibrant, fragile life wilt away. 

It's still very early; the sun hasn't even risen yet, and he casts dark vision, just to peruse his surroundings.

Everyone is asleep; there is nobody in the room next to his - Daud's room - and Corvo thinks it's for the best.

He gets up, ignoring the exhaustion that tries to drag him back to sleep, and faintly caresses the cat's ear. The small animal twitches, wakes, and presses back into his touch, mewling.

Corvo smiles a little, obliges the small cat, before he quietly opens the door and blinks out of the inn, not wanting to wake anyone up.

The wind is cool, leaving a pleasant chill on his sweaty skin. There is no chatter in the air, only small chirps from insects and birds, and Corvo closes his eyes a little, just enjoying it.

Nowhere in Dunwall would he be able to feel this. Dunwall is all mechanical and steel, any wildlife long crushed away. It is also never quiet like this, there are always soft hums or buzzing of factories and workshops in the distance.

Weariness tempts him to go back asleep, but Corvo pushes that aside when he thinks of his most recent dream. Of the Pendletons, tongueless, choking on fresh blood. Of Jessamine- bleeding out- sweet eyes falling away from Corvo's, hand turning limp. Cold. Motionless.

It takes him a while to unclench his hand, and Corvo sucks in a deep breath, cool air warming within his lungs, lets it out as a sigh.

He sits on the rooftop, watching the horizon as a warm amber slowly sneaks up, blooming like a flower high in the sky.

It gradually warms, and Corvo doesn't feel so tired anymore, the sun's rays soothing his rattled nerves.

He starts to hear noises from within the inn, a clatter here, a creaking of wood there. Until now, Corvo feels relieved to hear such sounds. He still recalls the deathly silence in abandoned homes, a stench of dead rotting corpses in the air. This, this is _life_ , and Corvo remains seated, just listening to the sounds.

Soon, voices join the chorus. Not whispers, or screams, but cheerful shouts, and laughter.

A smell of fresh food makes Corvo sniff the air experimentally. Baked bread, soup…coffee. It smells…good.

For the first few months after Corvo's innocence was declared, Corvo could hardly eat anything. Rich, buttery food made his stomach churn, and mouthfuls of salty thick food were expelled hours later. It had been too much, too luxurious, and Corvo couldn't even bear the scent of cooked meat and spices when it immediately made his throat close and bile rise up. He forced it down anyway, smiled in front of Emily, and then retreated away to vomit it out. He just _couldn’t_. It took months, but Corvo eventually forced himself to eat normally once again. He eats barely enough now, nowhere near the amount he used to eat, but at least he’s actually consuming food now. Even so, he sees the gazes from maids and chefs. Sometimes even Emily eats more than he does, and Corvo just can't bring himself to stomach anymore food.

Speaking was even worse. After having conditioned himself to not speak at all in Coldridge, he was almost mute when he first came to the Hound Pits Pub. For the first few weeks since escaping, the mere feeling of his vocal chords moving made him remember vivid flashbacks from Coldridge, where he cried out and screamed in pain, but _never_ confessing. Samuel seemed to be the only one to understand, and he never forced Corvo to talk more than he wished to. When Emily was rescued, Corvo pushed himself much harder, wanting so desperately to be normal for Emily's sake. He always feared that Emily noticed his hands clenched and shaking by his side whenever he spoke to her.

It took months, and now Corvo can talk without horrific flashbacks, although he generally prefers not to talk at all.

The fragrant smell of coffee in the air now makes Corvo yearn for the drink. A hot cup would be nice, he admits, but he doesn't know if the whalers will welcome it.

He also doesn't have any particular plans for the day, and then he thinks of the small black cat he's taking care of.

He blinks back into his room (the room next door is still empty), and finds the cat sleeping. He gently wakes her, brings her into his arms, and goes downstairs.

Corvo makes his footsteps loud, but the whalers startle nonetheless when he appears.

"Good morning, Lord Attano." A whaler greets fluidly, seemingly unbothered. Corvo believes his name is Devon.

Kent, the timid red-haired whaler, peeks out from the kitchen, and then disappears back in.

The cat mewls, nudging Corvo’s arm, and Devon looks down at it.

"Oh, so this is the unfortunate creature Kent was telling us about."

The cat looks up with bright eyes, snuggling back into Corvo's chest affectionately.

About five other whalers remain, seated at the dining room. Another two have blinked away when Corvo came in, although he gives it little thought.

Devon doesn't seem as nervous of him as his peers.

"Kent says you're on holiday." Devon says.

Corvo just nods, noticing how each whaler tilts in his direction, craning to watch his response. 

“So,” Devon starts, “where are you off to today?” 

“I don’t know.” Corvo replies. 

“Uhm…alright…do you need someone to show you around..? Don’t want to get lost, right? Ha-ha.” Another whaler with blond hair asks, probably Feodor. 

Corvo just stares at the young whaler, almost befuddled. 

“…I lived in Serkonos for eighteen years.” 

A silence follows, so terribly awkward that makes it makes everyone in the room (Corvo included) so thankful that Kent chooses that moment to come out of the kitchen holding a tray, bringing it in front of Corvo. There is a platter of bread, some kind of soup, and - thank the Void - a cup of coffee.

"Uhm…"

Kent's gaze darts away the second Corvo meets his eyes. The man seems a little lost.

"If you want it, that is." Kent says weakly.

"…Thank you."

The whalers in the dining room start to gulp down their food at an impressive pace, nervously watching Corvo from the corner of their eyes. They clearly don't want to stay long.

Corvo kneels to the floor and sets the cat down, who mewls in protest, pawing up on his leg. The bandage at her side needs to be changed, Corvo notes, and he decides he will do it himself later after eating.

Corvo takes the tray, and Kent darts away with a quick smile, vanishing back into the kitchen.

(On the way to the dining room, Corvo hears Devon hiss out ‘you idiot!’, before a smack, and a muffled cry of pain from Feodor.) 

Corvo takes the seat furthest from the other whalers, who are all carefully avoiding his gaze. The cat stalks over, paws at his leg once more, and then Corvo gives in, picking her up to his lap.

The content feline then curls up, and starts to fall asleep.

The bread is freshly baked, and the soup is not as salty as Corvo had expected. It is flavourful and yet, light, but Corvo stops eating after a few spoonfuls, as a nauseating sensation balloons in his stomach. He finishes his coffee, but the bread and soup are half eaten. He sees Kent cast a quick look at his unfinished food, and makes the same face as when Corvo returned the tray last night with a half-empty bowl of stew.

It isn't angry, it is more sympathetic than sad, and Corvo tries not to think about it.

Kent later offers to take care of the cat, and Corvo hands her over. The cat seems to trust Kent, and buries her head into Kent's hand, which makes Kent's eyes widen slightly in wonder.

Corvo then takes some of his money, and just leaves. He has no particular plan for his holiday, and decides to explore the streets, where shops are starting to open and people are roaming the roads. 

He walks down the row of shop houses, children running past him in merry laughter. They sell a variety of things: cakes, clothes, toys, food, meat. Corvo's eyes are mostly drawn to the toys, wooden ones, dolls, puzzles, and other intricately carved and painted specimens.

He is looking at one in particular, a doll. It resembles Mrs Pilsen, Emily's favourite doll, although the dress colour is wrong, the smile is wrong, too wide, and the hair is too short.  
Memories of happier times surface, a deep ache forming. 

Mrs Pilsen was a present from Corvo, when Emily was barely four years of age. Corvo had bought it at a roadside stall in Serkonos many years ago. Emily had been delighted to get the gift, and when she asked Corvo what her name was, Corvo could only blankly stare at Jessamine, before blurting out “Mrs Pilsen”, only because Corvo caught sight of a book written by Anthony Pilsen by the table. Jessamine had laughed at Corvo later, her laughter bright like the sun, eyes shining with obvious fondness. 

Corvo almost doesn't feel the hard shove against his side, and the pilfering of his wallet.

Corvo's instincts take hold, decades of fighting experience spilling out in a split second of deadly grace.

The young boy – pickpocket – is slammed against the wall, arms securely pinned by Corvo’s hands. The boy yelps, thrashing. 

Corvo's grip is strong, and the boy whimpers, eyes widening in horror. The boy is barely older than Emily; his hair is tousled, raven black, and he is thin and gaunt. A street urchin, not uncommon in Serkonos.

The fear in his eyes is genuine, and Corvo notices his torn clothes, obviously the only set he owns, and the streaks of dirt and grime on his arms and face.

"My wallet." Corvo says, and the boy flinches hard.

The wallet is shakily returned, and Corvo takes it back.

Corvo can feel his bones under his grip; he could break them if he tried, and Corvo frowns at the thought.

"…Are you hungry?" Corvo asks instead, and the boy's eyes widen.

Corvo repeats his question when the boy doesn't reply.

"Y-yes." The boy whimpers.

Corvo relaxes his grip. He probably left a bruise there.

"I'll buy you some food." Corvo says, and the boy watches him suspiciously, rooted to the ground.

When Corvo holds out a still hot meat pie, the boy can only stare blankly at it. He looks at Corvo in shock, back at the pie, and up again, at a complete loss.

"Take it." Corvo urges, keeping his voice soft, and the boy does take it. He glances up at Corvo, then starts to wolf it down, juices dripping down his face. It probably scalds him, but the boy doesn't care, too ravenous to think.

He finishes it within a minute, licks his fingers, and stares longingly at the empty wrapper.

Corvo buys another bag of pies for him, five in total, piping hot, and holds it out to the young boy, whose eyes are so wide they could pop out any moment.

"I…thank you." The boy finally says, licking his lips.

"What's your name?" Corvo asks.

"…Ralph, sir."

"I'm Corvo."

Ralph finishes another pie, and leaves four in the paper bag. Ralph sniffs it, taking the scent deep, before reluctantly rolling it up.

"Not going to eat more?"

Ralph startles at the question, before shaking his head.

"I…my friends would want them." Ralph mumbles, twiddling his fingers.

Corvo is surprised. It is a rare quality, selflessness. 

Ralph then looks up at him, and then away. He isn't moving away, and remains seated on the side of the pavement, beside Corvo.

When Ralph stares again, Corvo asks,

"What's wrong?"

"Uhm…no-nothing sir, Corvo sir. Yo-you just remind me of my teacher."

Teacher? Somebody that teaches street urchins to pickpocket?

"Who is it?" His voice is a little harsh, and the boy blanches in horror.

"He-he doesn't tell us his name. B-but he wears a red jacket, an-and he has a big scar on his face." The boy blurts out quickly.

Corvo grows very still, the air around him freezing solid. The boy is shaking now, clearly very aware of the danger he's in.

"Could you take me to him?" His voice is hard, the same commanding voice he uses in court, and the trembling boy can only obey.

The boy stumbles a little as he runs through the roads, and Corvo follows behind easily enough.

 _Daud_. The name triggers a rush of anger, resentment, sorrow, and Corvo narrows his eyes at the thought of the man.

He remembers crouching outside the man's office, blade out, ready to seek retribution, revenge, blood when-

Corvo heard him record an audiograph.

Corvo then snuck upstairs, read Daud's journal, and the anger faded into a weak surge.

He choked the man out instead, dumped him back on his bed out of spite, took his bone charm and key and then ushered himself into the sewers before he could change his mind.

He spared Daud, and when he was reminded of the deed at an Outsider's shrine, his blood was set aflame again, and he was so tempted to return back to finish the job.

Corvo's blood is singing now, eager for violence, and he quells the urge with a firm bite to the inside of his cheek. He had spared Daud. That was his choice. He chose mercy, and if he goes back on that decision without good reason, he’ll be no better than the traitors and corrupt nobles he deals with in court. He'll be falling to Hiram Burrows's level, that dirty, devious bastard. Jessamine wouldn't like it, and Corvo won't allow himself to do so. He's a better man than that.

He forces himself to calm, and his heartbeat is steady by the time the boy reaches a particular alley. 

It has muddied puddles on the floor, surrounding walls slick with algae and dirt. The alley ends within a few paces, opening to a small space as big as Corvo’s room in the Hound Pits Pub. It is coloured in shades of beige, dark brown where parts of chipped concrete from the walls have fallen off. Murky water, almost green, spills over the floor with a pungent, stinging scent. The sun’s rays don’t reach down into this secluded place, and the place is dulled in grey tones, where only the tips of walls, almost three storeys up, is painted with the warm glow. 

The dreary colour tones are marred by bright, crimson red. 

A coat. 

That very coat is wrapped around a single man, standing at the centre of the space, tall and bulky. 

The man is frozen still, and Ralph glances between both of them meekly. The man has a cigar in one hand, the other deep in his coat pocket. The way he hunches over feels like a shadow in the night, blanketing everything in darkness and void. 

Corvo has very keen senses, further enhanced from his time in Coldridge. His instincts are finely honed, and he can clearly identify the miasma surrounding the man. Like the fog in an early morning, thick and viscous like honey, like being drowned in a tumultuous sea. A pressure akin to lying on barbed wire, or perhaps the fangs of a wolfhound. 

The mark of men trained in the deadly art of the blade. 

This feeling isn’t foreign to Corvo, he felt it from certain skilled guardsmen back in Dunwall. 

But never this potent, never this strong. 

The back of his neck is prickling, as his eyes move up the well-muscled body to look at his face. 

The long scar is obvious even from this distance. 

_Daud._

Corvo locks gazes with Daud, and he immediately sees the warm blood gushing from Jessamine, the panicked scream of his daughter. The pain in Coldridge, his life ruined. The pain. The pain. _He must di-_

 _No_. He's better than this. His blade remains hooked to his side, untouched. 

The red coat Daud wears isn't the whaler coat. It is fabric, thinner, but is of a similar enough shade that Corvo narrows his eyes at it.

"Attano." The name comes out flat enough.

The boy - Ralph - glances up at him hurriedly.

"A-Attano? You're the Roy-"

Ralph turns completely white when Corvo looks at him. He's not dressed in the famous embroidered uniform, but the aura around him clearly resonates authority, danger. The same one Daud possesses, Corvo knows. 

"Get out of here, boy." Daud snaps, a gravel-like tone that saws down on Corvo's ears.

The poor boy scurries away even before Daud finishes his sentence.

"What did you do to him?" Daud growls out, glaring. The tone grates on Corvo.

"Nothing." Corvo snarls back, all the vehemence and ferocity he commands as a Royal Protector spilling out in the single word. Daud doesn't even flinch. Corvo forces his tone to calm. Anger gets him nowhere. Jessamine always liked his cool-tempered nature. He doesn't want to- won't- betray that.

"I just bought him some food." He says, voice more controlled now.

Something flickers past Daud's face, brief surprise, then back to suspicion.

"Always so charitable, aren't you, _Lord Protector_?"

It is a mocking taunt, Corvo is not unused to it from court. Taunts were intended to provoke, to make one give in to anger, lose control, show weakness, opening doors to be manipulated. Corvo knows that, as did Jessamine (Emily is still struggling to understand this), and he reacts in the one way that makes the taunt backfire.

By doing absolutely nothing.

When Daud realises Corvo isn't going to lash out, much less retort anything back, he is surprised again, and it shows in his posture.

Only then does Corvo considers his situation. He really hasn't quite given this deep thought. What had he wanted to accomplish? What had he hoped to do? Confirm Daud’s presence? Attack the man? Yell at him? Kill…him? The thought is hurled away as soon as it comes, and Corvo’s mind settles back into a more peaceful, controlled whirl. Asking Ralph to bring him to Daud was an impulse, one Corvo regrets now. He had let his emotions guide him for that split second, and Corvo punishes himself with a vicious bite to the inside of his cheek.

He can't do that.

He had vowed not to do that ever since he threw Lord Pendleton out of court for an inappropriate remark out of pure fury.

He can't let his emotions control him. Emotions let him be read, be studied, be manipulated. He must remain a mystery, be unpredictable, so _no one_ will dare betray him ever again. He won't trust anyone. He must remain objective, indifferent, unbiased, logical. He must do all that to protect Dunwall, to provide Emily a good example to look up to. Her mother is…gone…and the last Lord Regent was an accursed, greedy, small-minded man. She has no one to follow, so Corvo must play that role. 

He doesn't know what he wants to do with the ex-assassin. Killing him is not an option Corvo will allow himself to consider. Avoidance seems pointless.

"You own an inn." He says instead.

Daud studies him, confusion clear.

"A drastic change, considering your…previous profession." Corvo can't help but let bitterness taint his tone near the end.

Daud's eyes are trained on him, penetrating, deep, like a physician armed with a scalpel.

"Your point being?"

Corvo doesn’t answer, just turns around, right foot ready to move off. He has said enough. He doesn’t have anything else he wants to say to the man. He doesn’t think Daud will attack him, but even if he does, Corvo is confident he can stop the man. Corvo gets to take a few steps before Daud blinks in front of him, no sword out, surprisingly. 

The scar is very prominent now, a deep etch into Daud's skin. Possibly made by a sharp blade, narrowly missing the eye. A past amateur mistake perhaps. Corvo himself has many similar marks, albeit nowhere near as noticeable as Daud's.

Corvo stops, a few steps before Daud, and simply waits.

Daud is silent for a few moments, poised like a wolfhound ready to attack, eyes perusing every detail on Corvo's face.

"Why did you spare me?"

The question feels blurted out, rehearsed almost, and Corvo feels a strange satisfaction at knowing how much this has tormented Daud.

Corvo blinks slowly at him, folding his arms.

"You regret it."

Corvo is astute enough to catch the very minute widening of Daud's eyes when he says that.

"Don't you?" Corvo presses.

This is the one revenge Corvo wants to get from Daud. He wants to hear Daud admit it. Corvo wants to hear the confession, an apology perhaps. He doesn't need journals or audiographs to tell him that, he wants _Daud_ to say it in his face. If he isn't going to kill Daud, this is the least he wants in revenge.

Corvo knows Daud is prideful, and he has no qualms about using this against him. Daud is too proud to admit being guilty, and at the same time, too proud to give Corvo the satisfaction of a pathetic denial. He's at an impasse, Corvo can see the dilemma sink in his eyes, and he secretly revels in Daud's discomfort.

"Yes, I do." The answer is a reluctant one, but it is in an oddly resigned tone, and that actually annoys Corvo much more than an expected snapping response would.  
But it is an admission nonetheless, and Corvo decides to accept it, brushing past Daud to leave. 

He doesn’t get very far. 

He is thrown back towards the wall in a single motion, the collar of his shirt grasped tightly in a hand, pressing him back. The back of his head knocks against the wall, but the pain is so minimal as compared to everything else. That single motion reeks of danger, and Corvo can tell that Daud is highly skilled, very proficient. He is lightning fast, and he is most certainly lives up to the name ‘Knife of Dunwall’. 

His arms aren’t pinned, and if Corvo was any other man, Daud’s heavy, unmoving frame would be enough to dissuade anyone from a frantic escape. But Corvo is not _any other_ man. 

“Why.” Daud growls out. 

Corvo feels the man’s warm breath on himself, is faintly disgusted by the fact. Corvo doesn’t resist against Daud, and merely returns back a steely stare that makes Daud’s grip on his shirt falter somewhat. 

Ever since he’d left Dunwall, he had tapered down his energy, adjusted his demeanour to blend in with the people. In court, especially towards untrustworthy nobles, Corvo is a beast, a condensed ball of crackling energy that pounds on the nobles over and over until they crack. The pressure he puts is tenacious, so great that the nobles eventually crumble under insistent dark brown eyes and give in to whatever was demanded of them. 

Even though stories of his handling of _certain_ nobles are almost legendary, they all won’t deny that Corvo is a very fair and gracious person. He never interrupts people, never mocks them, and he always listens when they wish to say something. He cares little of social status, age or gender. He listens and takes their opinions seriously, always considering them with astonishing care, making him rather well-liked among the people. 

But he is most frightening when he is meting out punishment for tardiness among the City Watch. He knows exactly what kind of atmosphere he creates with his mere presence when that happens. He can always almost hear the thunderous heartbeats from the guardsmen, and he never misses the barely noticeable signs of fear. The guardsmen more than often end up humiliated, degraded into a babbling mess, never to repeat the same mistake again. He is unforgiving towards dishonesty, and he will see to it that the City Watch remains alert and disciplined under his command. 

He is releasing that very same energy now, exploding out, colliding and grating against Daud’s own like two swords crashing into each other. Corvo can almost feel the heat in the air, hear the hiss from the friction. 

The man dares to threaten him? Even after Corvo had shown him mercy? 

Corvo really hates violence. He truly does. He has had more than enough of it to last a lifetime, or _lifetimes_ , so he narrows his eyes at Daud, extremely unimpressed. He never attacks unless provoked first, and that rule applies to even Daud. But Daud has crossed that very line the moment he slammed Corvo into the wall, and _threatened_ him. 

Daud doesn’t even flinch at the thickening in the air, and Corvo gives him exactly one second to pull away. 

He doesn’t. 

A burning chill settles on his left hand, intensifying at his fingers as Corvo draws from the massive stockpile of spiritual energy hidden away in his veins, made accessible by a god’s gift.

The Outsider mark, all black lines and arcs, glows. A luminous mix of green, yellow and blue. Unholy energy crackles beneath, as Corvo clenches his fist. 

Daud’s eyes widen fractionally, his grip falling away, but it is way too late. 

A _second_ too late. 

The magic explodes out in a shrieking howl, and Daud is flung back by an ungodly circular blast of wind summoned from the Void itself. He slams straight into the wall directly opposite Corvo with a crash, the air vibrating with a hiss. Residual magic then tapers away, making a powerful chill descend as it sucks away heat from the surrounding air with a voracious appetite. The smell of the Void then envelopes the air, a dusty, empty smell that only those versed in the supernatural arts will be able to identify.

His mark fades to black, and Daud groans, face scrunched into a momentary expression of pain. Daud pushes himself off the wall, powdered ceramic and chips falling away as he does so. Corvo himself is a little stunned at the shock of impact, he hadn’t known his windblast was this powerful. 

Daud doesn’t fall to his knees, remains standing, and just glares at Corvo. Corvo fixes his clothes, completely unconcerned, returning back to a state of calm, and just walks off out of the alley.

That should give Daud enough encouragement to think twice before threatening him like that again.


	3. The Mystery that is Corvo Attano

Daud doesn't understand why he’d been left choked out on his bed when Corvo could have killed him. And he _needs_ to know why.

It isn't a common occurrence where he finds a man that somehow…escapes him. The Outsider is one such man, but Daud knows that the sheer god status of the deity isn't meant to be comprehended, so Daud has given up trying to take him apart. _Corvo_ on the other hand…Daud had thought he’d taken apart the man so completely and accurately that he could not act out of his predictions. 

But it did. Corvo Attano had walked right past the boundaries Daud had carefully constructed for him, tore away the paths Daud thought were laid out in plain sight for all to see. It turned out Daud didn’t know a thing about the mysterious Serkonan man, and Daud is for once, truly puzzled. 

Daud is precise, he is analytic, smart, methodical. He knows how to take people apart, find out what makes them tick, discover exactly what drives them to do the things they do. He enjoys knowing their weaknesses, and he's frighteningly accurate about it. He makes sure he plans out every outcome, knows every detail, and he never makes the same mistakes twice. It is a useful skill in the dark business of assassination, information brokering and blackmail, and it is most definitely one of the reasons why he'd became a legendary assassin.

Corvo sparing him that day felt like defeat. Felt like he'd been completely, wholly beaten, and the thought has battered his pride and annoyed him for months and months.

Corvo's life had been ruined by Daud's hand, lover killed, daughter kidnapped, the empire he protects overrun by rats. He'd been tortured, rendered helpless, turned hopeless. Daud knows he's strong, and he knows that Coldridge won't break him. He predicted an opposite effect: growing anger, resentment, hatred. The dishonoured Royal Protector was stripped of everything, and Daud was so confident he would come for revenge someday. Daud would end up bleeding out, at the end of Corvo's blade after a whirlwind of violence, a flurry of strikes and blows. 

He used to dream of the horrific skull mask, all metal and wires. He'd seen- _dreamt_ \- the numerous ways he'd been killed. By Corvo's sword. By Daud's sword. By a bolt. By a gun. By gravity. With bare hands. 

He thought he knew it all, predicted and planned everything so meticulously.

He thought he had dissected the man so fully that it was absolutely impossible for his plan to fall apart.

Except that everything went fucking _wrong_.

He'd been denied even the chance to be punished. His plan was turned on its head and thrown back at him with a cruel laugh. 

Corvo had _spared_ him. He didn't even instigate a fight. The very notion didn’t even occur to Daud as a possibility until it actually occurred. It was simply too ridiculous to be considered seriously, and while the thought _did_ flash through his mind, it was immediately slashed and shredded, banished to the unforgiveable land of optimism that _didn’t_ have a place in Dunwall. 

When Corvo choked him out with a strong arm to the neck, Daud had been too shocked to even react, and by the time his brain caught up with what was happening, his vision was already blurred, and he was forced unconscious.

Every expectation, prediction, _everything_ Daud thought he knew of the man. All _wrong_.

Daud realised he didn't understand the man at all.

Corvo is a mystery. He acts in ways that defy logic, goes against everything Daud knows. The Royal Protector frustrates him beyond anything else, and Daud just _needs_ to understand.

He can't live _not knowing_.

When he returned back to the inn last night, he’d been mildly suspicious because the place was completely dark. Most of the time, there would be at least one whaler to welcome him back (it was usually Thomas). Thomas is insufferably loyal, and the number of hours he works everyday astounds even Daud. 

He takes up three different jobs, leaves early in the morning and returns late at night, all without complaint. The only time Daud gets to see Thomas shed his disciplined uncomplaining self is on rest day, where Thomas truly lets himself go, indulging in alcohol and other activities. It is the only chance Daud gets to hear Thomas speak of his jobs, his dreadful colleagues, and other idiotic things that happen in his day. Daud likes to listen. He likes to know what each of the whalers are doing. 

When Daud made his way into the kitchen, he saw a bowl of stew left by Kent. If Thomas were awake, he’d suggest warming up the stew for Daud. Daud usually declines. He doesn’t mind cold food; he’d eaten things much worse before anyway. 

He swallowed all the stew quickly, being careful not to make any clanks with his spoon. 

Daud then took a bottle of whiskey, pried it open with one of his knives, drank it all and proceeded to go upstairs to get some rest. 

A left step here, a bigger right step there – past that one loose wooden plank that makes a loud creaking noise – and a small left step here. Daud made his way up in his carefully constructed route, sticking close to the walls where the boards made the least sound, until he reached the third floor. 

And he had stopped, void gaze on. 

The season for visiting nobles was not here yet, it was _over_ in fact. 

So why was the room beside his occupied? 

What was stranger was that the figure lying on the bed did not look like a noble. He was too broad, too tall, very unlike the lanky stick-like figure nobles tended to have. 

Daud’s eyes widened when he finally realised who it was. 

_The fucking Royal Protector._

The first thing to hit him was pure shock. 

Did Corvo not know that he owned the inn? Did he not realise that the people in the inn were whalers? That surely was impossible. He was too smart, too observant for that. He was a sharp man, he wouldn’t have let such a glaring piece of detail just slide, would he? But even as Daud thought that, some part of his mind broke out a dash of insecurity. He conceded that he wasn’t exactly very discerning when it came to the enigmatic Royal Protector.

Supposing, _supposing_ Corvo truly did not know (Daud didn’t exactly want to consider the other more probable option just yet), seeing Daud in the inn would surely send him into a mad rush. 

And Daud…well…he would most likely find himself at the end of Corvo’s blade. Not that Daud would actually fight to stop it. 

If he… _had_ known, Daud couldn’t even bear thinking about the implications. If Corvo _had_ known, if he knew Daud owned the place, and the very people he was sleeping with in the same building were whalers, then- 

Daud didn’t even have an explanation himself. It just wasn’t possible. There was nobody on this dratted world that could be _this_ forgiving, could there? 

Sparing them once was one thing. Actually _residing_ with them was a completely separate thing altogether. His whalers were clearly all still very alive, so Corvo hadn’t killed, much less hurt any of them, so why- 

Why is Corvo _here_? 

Daud had stood outside the door purely frustrated, his thoughts spinning and trying to form any kind of connection, a logical reason that would explain why Dunwall’s Royal Protector had chosen to come to Serkonos, why he’d chosen to sleep in this very inn, owned by the one man he should hate more than anything in the world. 

His thoughts grew hot and furious, until Daud’s head actually started to hurt. 

He could storm in, demand an explanation, but Daud paused. Daud had never interacted with Corvo before, not counting the time he’d taunted Corvo when he was delivered to the Flooded District poisoned and too weak to fight back. He truly had no idea how Corvo would react. 

And if- 

_If_ Corvo decided to go on a rampage, he would be sending his whalers here to their doom. 

Daud racked his brain for another minute or so, until he decided to just leave the inn. Corvo was a mystery that refused to be deciphered, and Daud wouldn’t take chances, not when his whalers were here. There were too many uncertainties. He needed more information. He can’t act without a plan. He- 

He didn’t know how to deal with Corvo, the one man that just refused to stick in any box Daud placed him in. Corvo always insisted on breaking into another box, out of the box, until he spilled over _everywhere_ and _anywhere_ , leaving traces of him all over but otherwise escaping Daud’s comprehension, with only a shadow of the man to hover around and quietly mock Daud with its ghostly presence. 

The next day, Daud returns back to the inn with a very large bruise on his back and his head. He deserves it, most definitely, after having threatened Corvo like that. 

That confrontation left even more questions than answers, something Daud didn’t even know could be possible. Daud had never left a meeting feeling like he knew even _less_ of somebody than _more_. But then again, anything seems to be possible with Corvo. 

Corvo hadn’t attacked him on sight. He was livid, yes, that was expected, but Corvo didn’t punch him, stab him, or do anything violent. He’d in fact, fucking _walked away_ , and Daud had been so furious at that moment that he actually _threatened_ Corvo without really thinking. He just can’t accept that Corvo spared him because of his regret. The logic was severely flawed, nothing made sense. 

Kent sees the face Daud makes when he comes into the inn at night after that confrontation, and the timid physician knows better than to question Daud about what happened when Daud has that annoyed look on his face. He passes over an ointment with a shaky smile (the man is still a little fidgety around Daud, especially if Daud is in a bad mood). Daud thanks him. 

For the next few days, he tails Corvo from the rooftops. It is obvious that the Royal Protector knows this, but just doesn’t care. He doesn’t show himself in front of Corvo at all, and he wants to keep it that way. Corvo doesn’t do anything out of ordinary. He gives street urchins food, occasionally stares into a toy shop, before walking away with a short shake of his head. Corvo seldom drinks, but the rare times Daud has seen Corvo indulge, he drinks mostly wine or whiskey (a brand of whiskey that Daud himself favours, he finds out with slight surprise). 

The only somewhat notable thing that Corvo did was that he bought a box of cocoa powder for an exorbitant price. Cocoa is extremely expensive, rare, and few shops stocked it, much less a whole box of it. That very night, jugs of a rich cocoa drink appeared in the kitchen, with no indication as to how or when they appeared.

A tentative sip from Kent declared it clean of poisons, surprisingly not sweet, very milky, but delicious. The jugs were then promptly emptied by the whalers, who have never drank such a luxurious drink in their lives, too happy to care about _who_ put the drink there, and _why_. 

Daud drank one cup too. It was really good. 

But Daud has no more insight into the man as before, and the frustration continues to fester within him, growing until it completely consumes him, stealing his sleep and thoughts. He still cannot understand him. 

But.

Apart from Corvo, another thing deeply annoys Daud. 

_There is a fucking cat on his property._

What’s worse is that his damn whalers have gotten fond of the stupid mewling animal. This is the ultimate betrayal, and Daud has the sinking suspicion that the fucking cat is going to become a permanent resident in the household after Corvo leaves, and he _hates_ it. 

Daud absolutely detests the black meowing animal. A useless, burdensome fur-covered ball of trouble, so desperate for attention and love that Daud wishes he could use it as target practice just to give its miserable life some decent purpose. 

What the fuck possessed Corvo to bring a _cat_ and nurse it back to health? 

The one morning Kent told him that, Daud just stared him down, so damn sure that Kent was joking. When Daud finally confirmed that it wasn’t a joke, and the mighty Royal Protector indeed took pity on the feline animal, he just walked out of the inn, abandoned his plan of stalking Corvo, promptly bought a boxful of whiskey and downed it all in a single night because his life just turned into a fucking joke and Daud wasn’t having it. 

The stupid cat hisses and snarls when it sees Daud, but the sentiment is mutual, and Daud shoots a few bolts into the floor a few steps away from the cat just to make a point. 

But Daud still finds black fur all over his room, which feels so mocking and positively vexing that Daud thinks he might just strangle the cat to death and turn its fur into a welcome mat for the inn one day.

It is soon the fourth day that Corvo is staying with the group, and Daud hasn’t learnt anything new about him, or shed any insight into _why_ he’d been spared. He doesn’t know why Corvo allows him to tail him, but that is the least of his concerns. 

He is following Corvo again. 

Nothing eventful occurs for the most part of the day, until Corvo heads into a lonely alley, perhaps to cut through to the next street. It is not a smart choice, since there was mercenaries around waiting to ambush anyone that is stupid enough to wander in, but Corvo can most certainly defend himself just fine. 

Daud watches, from the rooftops, peering down into the alley. It looks similar to the alley that Daud first confronted Corvo in, but wider. Small twining vines sneak their way up the walls, spreading small leaves across the weathered surface, and puddles of grimy water cover the floor. Corvo’s footsteps make no sound when he steps past the puddles.

Just as he suspected, a group of mercenaries are waiting behind a trash bin, and another group is coming in from the back, closing in on Corvo. 

Daud can see from Corvo’s tense shoulders that he knows exactly what is going on, although for an untrained eye, it looks as though Corvo is very unaware. 

Daud almost feels bad for the mercenaries. 

“Terrible mistake ya, to wander in like this. Din’t ya parents teach you not to walk in small roads? Or are they dead?” The rough, mocking voice makes a few other mercenaries cackle. 

Corvo stops, and Daud sees his sharp eyes track each of the men, quickly assessing threat level and danger, all in a single second that makes Daud rather impressed. 

There are seven mercenaries in total, two carrying guns, the rest carrying either cleavers or swords. 

“Now hand over the money, or we can turn you to meat chunks!” The same mercenary bellows. He is extremely bulky, larger than Corvo (and Daud), but size is not everything. Having that amount of muscle mass makes you heavy, slow, unfit for _real_ combat. Size can intimidate, but that is the most it can do in terms of usefulness. 

Daud watches on, actually interested in what Corvo would do. He can see Corvo’s hand resting on the handle of his special sword, but it probably looks as though he’s just placing his hands in his pockets from the mercenaries’ view. 

“You have five seconds to walk away.” 

Daud has never heard Corvo speak louder than a whirring engine, but the man _always_ manages to make himself heard. Daud can feel his dangerous aura even from the rooftops, and he can see how still Corvo has become, preparing for a fight. If Daud had been there, he’d probably just kicked their asses without giving them a chance to leave. 

The mercenaries are oblivious to the danger, and they laugh. 

The first mercenary charges at him with an outstretched cleaver, ready to hack the air. 

Something in Corvo’s brown eyes light up, a tint of ice-cold viciousness that bursts out as he kicks the first mercenary down, pouncing off him to knock into another. It is agile, and deceptively smooth that it makes the motion look easy. It is not, Daud knows this of course. Gracefulness in combat is earned through experience, mistakes, failures. 

Corvo disarms both of them so quickly that the other mercenaries freeze, unable to follow what just happened. 

But the mercenaries do not know fear it seems, and another pulls out the gun, scrambling to fire it. Corvo is lightning fast, and he knocks the arm back as the trigger is pulled, making the bullet ricochet off the walls, splintering into scrap metal. 

Corvo is brutal, fast, and highly skilled, and Daud is momentarily awed by him, darting around the enclosed space and taking down the mercenaries as he goes, all with fluidity and supreme grace. He has the blistering speed of a diving eagle, the agility of a rat, the raw power of a wolf combined, shaped and packed into a human form, executing flawless manoeuvres with incredible ease. He hasn’t even taken out his sword, much less utilised any of his supernatural powers. 

Corvo takes down two more embarrassingly quick, and only two are left. The two look at each other, clearly terrorised by the blitzing spectacle they just witnessed unfold within short minutes. 

One of them pulls out the gun, very shakily points it at Corvo. Corvo’s eyes turn blazing, burning, and the man can’t pull the trigger, choked by pure fear. Corvo knocks him out with a blow to the head. 

The last one is holding out his blade, standing his ground, even though he is trembling and obviously scared. 

Corvo looks at him for a while, and for some reason Daud can’t understand, he pulls out his own blade, beckoning for the mercenary to come for him. 

Corvo parries every blow, and knocks the mercenary to the ground each time their swords lock. 

The fight drags on, and Daud just watches, confused. Corvo could end the fight without even drawing his blade, and with his sword, he can finish it within seconds. So why..? 

Corvo’s blade remains clean when the mercenary just crumbles to the ground, heaving and panting. He’s rooted to the ground out of fear, and too exhausted to fight back any longer. The only thing he can do is watch Corvo, who remains unperturbed and stoic a few paces in front of him. Corvo then folds his blade, hooking it back on his belt. 

“Do you know who I am?” Corvo’s voice booms, and the mercenary shudders. Corvo isn’t even panting, and he looks completely unbothered, bored, almost. 

Recognition doesn’t light up in his face, and the man doesn’t reply, so Corvo steps closer. His right foot sends a splash of water upwards in an arc, and the very motion makes the poor mercenary flinch, and start to tremble. 

“Do you recognise this?” Corvo pulls out some small accessory from his pocket. His voice is neutral, flat, frighteningly so. 

Daud cranes in to look at it. 

It is a ring. With a diamond-shaped emblem on it. 

The mercenary turns very white, eyes glued to the tiny ring held out in Corvo’s unwavering palm. He is shaking now. 

“This is the imperial signet ring.” Corvo says, although the mercenary already knows that, and has deduced who he is. 

“Pl-Please I’m so sorry. I-We didn’t k-know.” He starts to babble. 

“Don’t do something like this again.” Corvo’s soft command feels as loud as the roar of thunder. He looks at the mercenary and he nods quickly. 

“And…” Corvo adds, and the mercenary freezes. “If your friends possess the same skill with a sword as you demonstrated just now, I highly doubt that the Serkonan guard force will turn you away.” 

The mercenary’s eyes widen, as do Daud’s, as he finally understands why Corvo sparred with the mercenary instead of beating him unconscious. Corvo wanted to test him, evaluate his skills.

“Y-yes sir.” The mercenary whimpers. 

Corvo’s head then tilts upwards, and Daud sees the brown eyes lock with his. He sees the briefest glow of hatred in those eyes, before they are clouded over with the same stoic, frozen expression as the rest of the face. For a moment, neither of them moves. Daud can’t read Corvo’s face, much less guess his thoughts, and he remains where he is, unmoving. 

Then Corvo looks away, brushes past the mercenary and walks ahead into the alley down to the next street, nonchalant and unconcerned, like what happened was just a small distraction to him, leaving behind the mess of unconscious men and one trembling man, who can only stare blankly at the opening where Corvo just left from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a historical inaccuracy in this chapter regarding cocoa. Dishonored is heavily inspired by London and takes place in roughly 1837. Historically, cocoa was already inexpensive and accessible to the general public due to the invention of mass-production methods. Prior to that however, cocoa was indeed only available to the elite and aristocrats, drank with milk after dinner.


	4. A Day out with Attano

Kent has been looking forward to rest day. The clinic is closed for the day, and Kent finally gets some time to explore the city and enjoy street food.

But even though it's rest day, Kent still prepares food for everyone. Daud is an early riser, he wakes much earlier than Kent, and sometimes, his master exchanges a few casual words with him while helping to brew coffee. Kent used to flinch and grow very pale when Daud said anything to him, or even simply call his name, afraid of upsetting or angering the assassin, but Kent eventually learnt that his rough tone was natural, and he slowly picked up ways to discern between Daud's different tones.

The coffee scent usually wakes everyone else up, including Attano - although Kent suspects that the man has been long awake, and simply chooses to appear then.

Daud is spooning some coffee beans from a bag when Kent walks in. Daud is the one that buys coffee, and he's surprisingly good at choosing the beans, so no one has complained yet.

"Good morning, Kent."

Kent groggily nods, and mutters his greetings. Kent goes to take some rice, water, and other vegetables.

He is making porridge today.

Feodor hates porridge, but Daud likes it. Daud always takes a second serving when Kent cooks it, which is oddly satisfying enough for Kent to endure Feodor's complaints whenever porridge is on the menu.

As coffee scent fills the air, Kent starts to hear footsteps and muffled voices. His brothers start to arrive down, collecting cups of coffee and scoops of Kent's porridge.

They then bring their trays to the dining room, and wait for each other to collect their food before starting. Sometimes even Daud joins in. Eating together - it feels odd to think it - shouldn't be strange. Most families do it, but for the group of whalers, it is something very new.

Back in Dunwall, they each had different missions, different schedules (all arranged by Daud), so eating together was never a luxury they had. They could consider themselves lucky enough if they had one brother to eat with for a meal.

But in Serkonos, dining together on rest days quickly grew into a habit. It was just Kent and Thomas at first (with Daud sometimes), the group's notorious early birds. Then Devon joined. And Feodor. And then soon they were eating together every morning of rest day, happy banter mixed with the clattering of cutlery.

Daud eats his porridge from the bowl, not even bothering to sit down. He takes a second serving minutes later, and a cup of coffee, finishes both too.

When Kent finally brings his own tray out to eat, Daud disappears, and seconds later, he sees why.

Attano's appearance is never sudden, it is probably calculated that way, but it still makes his brothers (and him) startle at the sight of the stoic bodyguard.

Kent is sure Daud isn't afraid of Attano. Daud's careful avoidance of the bodyguard seems to be out of respect rather than fear. Kent doesn't know how Attano will react if he sees Daud, he isn't even sure if Attano has even met Daud for real yet.

Attano is careful to sit away from the whalers. He eats alone, sometimes with the cat, but mostly alone. Kent often wonders if he minds.

The cat is very fond of Attano and strangely, Kent. It-she demands Attano's attention more often than not, and when Attano is out, she starts to pester Kent. 

The other whalers like the cat. They secretly coo and make strange noises around her when Attano is away, and they delight whenever the cat pays them any sort of attention, even if it is an aggressive hiss or snarl.

Daud hates the animal. That is very obvious. He always narrows his eyes and glares at her, and grumbles when he finds cat fur lying around. So Kent thinks it's best not to tell him that the cat has made it a habit to nap in one particular corner of Daud's bookshelf every afternoon.

Back in the kitchen now, Kent looks up at Attano. There are dark shadows below Attano's eyes. That should be obvious when Kent saw Attano for the first time days ago, but somehow the sharpness in his eyes has hidden it until today, when Attano's expression is oddly mellow. How odd. 

The whalers quieten down when Attano sits down, and the cutlery start to move around more carefully, the clattering sound fading to soft clangs.

Attano eats quickly, and then leaves, just like he had done for the past few days. The coffee mug is empty, and the porridge is half-eaten, as most meals for Attano are left.

"He didn't eat much again." Kent sighs out loud, and Feodor looks over at Attano's bowl.

"That's…barely a few spoons." Feodor notes, his tone a little…sad.

"He doesn't sleep very well either." Zachary adds, the most quiet of the group. "He was on the rooftops early morning the other day."

Kent thinks of Attano’s eye bags. Zachary is right. 

A silence descends on the group, until Kent feels vaguely bad for having said anything in the first place.

They are all probably feeling the same thing.

Guilt.

Only a few of them were there when Daud…killed the empress, but they all knew that a good man had been imprisoned and tortured because of that. Most of the whalers weren't good men. Some started off that way, got corrupted later, losing themselves in the blood business.

So they scoffed at first, thinking Attano to be the same breed as them, just one bad day away from unleashing all that hidden blood thirst, rage. Dunwall breaks everyone after all, no regard for gender or age. The city breaks everyone, like it did for them before.

And for whatever reason, some justification perhaps, they liked watching good men fall to their knees, fall into darkness.

It was satisfying, somehow. It should be sardonic, cruel, but every time they saw that, they felt…happy. It was proof that nobody could withstand the unfairness of Dunwall, proof that them falling to similar darkness was _right_ , that it couldn't be helped, that it was only natural.

So they waited, waited to hear of Attano's descent to a murderous killing machine. He was Royal Protector after all, the epitome of honour, the role model, the one all young boys dreamt of. To be able to take down the best of men, to drag him down to where they were, it sounded like victory. It sounded like _real concrete_ proof.

Then they heard of his mercy, his subdued nature, and a disquieting feeling started to erupt among them.

They stopped mentioning Attano. Stopped laughing at his poor predicament.

What they didn't want to accept most: that there was a _choice_ involved in turning bad, that what they did…couldn't be justified as nature. The way things go. Fate.

All that…was thrust in their faces when Attano spared their lives and showed mercy that fateful day.

Attano was the best of them, and he stayed that way.

The whalers all knew what that meant. They understood.

They knew how difficult it was to be honourable in Dunwall, after having experienced and survived through the worst, darkest, most treacherous parts of Dunwall.

And Attano - Corvo - was exactly that. He was the one man that the whalers dreamt they could have been: strong, brave, a success in a cruel world where hope and optimism were punished.  
He was a good man.

Who stayed that way.

And to actually see Attano suffer for what they did now…it hurt. It hurt that what happened was hurting Attano more than they themselves. It hurt to see that their one sole evidence against the darkness of Dunwall had been poisoned. They ran away from that madness while Attano stuck it out. Attano is so willing to be around them with no ill intent, completely neutral towards them all, even Daud, and it makes the guilt even worse.

Is this what Daud feels? Kent wonders. His master is reserved, distant, but every single one of them knew he was particularly troubled after killing Jessamine. Daud probably feels much worse than all the whalers combined, Kent decides.

"What does he like to eat?" Devon breaks the silence with a question.

The whalers all pause.

No response follows, and they are all suddenly very aware that they know nothing of the Royal Protector.

The rest of breakfast continues that way, melancholic, downcast, until the dining room is empty once again.

Kent leaves after washing his dishes, the heavy feeling still deeply soaked within him.

He walks down the streets, in deep thought, with little care for the children running down the streets and the bright displays flaunted by the numerous rows of shop houses he normally delights in. 

He…wants to help Attano.

That is certain enough.

The problem is he doesn't know how.

He doesn't know the faintest thing about him. What he likes, dislikes, hobbies, thoughts, dreams, goals. He knows nothing about Attano, even though Attano has been here for days already.

The brown-haired Royal Protector is more difficult to decipher than Daud himself, it seems, and Kent is in the middle of debating whether he likes light foods or rich foods when-

A hand grabs the shirt collar from the back, and tugs him firmly back.

Kent snaps back, arms flailing and eyes wild.

"Wha-" He yelps. Stumbles back, bangs into something solid, and then he is pulled back up to his feet, all at once.

Kent turns around, positively disorientated and very confused.

His heart is thumping, and the sight of dark brown hair and _those_ eyes almost makes his heart just stop out of pure fear.

"Are you alright?"

The voice is too painfully calm for Kent. His nerves are on overdrive and his whole body is just frozen.

Kent then turns back, and spots a pothole in the ground, overflowing with dark brown water.

Realisation dawns upon him and Kent is finally aware of how oblivious he had been of his surroundings, so occupied with his own thoughts.

"There was a sign." Attano then says, and Kent turns back.

True to his word, a wooden stand sticks out from the ground, and Kent's eyes widen.

"Uhm…s-sorry. Th-thank you." Kent stammers out, cheeks flushed.

"Be careful." Attano softly chatises, and the man gives Kent one more glance before turning to walk away.

Attano just saved him from…dropping straight into a pothole.

Had Attano been nearby? Where did he come from? 

What does he even do with his free time?

As soon as the thought comes, Kent realises that he has no idea what Attano does away from the inn.

It could be a chance to find out a little more about him.

"Att-Lord Attano. Wait!"

The man turns around smoothly, regarding Kent with light eyes.

He's wearing a blue collared shirt today. Kent spots the special sword Attano carries around peeking out from the corner of his grey coat. Kent looks up, and whatever courage that prompted him to call after the Royal Protector just melts away when he meets Attano's eyes.

It is nowhere close to a glare, and his eyes don't contain any kind of emotion, no anger, suspicion or resentment of any kind. It is always terribly gentle, adjusted levels softer than the gaze Attano has for the other whalers. There is always careful consideration behind Attano's treatment towards Kent and the other whalers.

The man knows Kent is easily spooked, and he takes precautions to best minimise that fear. Attano keeps a fair distance from Kent, speaks softly and always makes his presence known with his footsteps or other noises.

Devon tries to be civil, engaging him in conversation, but ultimately his fear spills out within a minute of interacting with Attano. Attano is aware of this. He responds to Devon's attempts at conversation, and his voice always has a layer of softness and reassurance when Devon starts to pale and stutter halfway through.

Feodor loses his composure completely when Attano is around. It is almost as if his brain just shuts off, and he ends up blurting out anything and everything without thinking, making him even more frantic. Attano doesn't judge him when that happens, doesn't mock him either, regards him just the same.

It is embarrassing, that Attano knows each whaler and adjusts his attitude to suit each of them, while the whalers don't know the faintest thing about him.

"Yes?" Attano asks, after a short silence, when Kent doesn't say anything.

Kent flushes, heat rising up his face.

"C-can I come with you?"

Attano blinks a few times at him, considering, before nodding. Kent trots behind him, face still very red.

Kent tails behind him as Attano walks down the streets. Attano twitches and turns back occasionally, just to check if Kent’s still there.

This continues down a few more roads, until Attano stops to step inside some food shop.

Kent waits outside.

Kent leans back against the glass panels, sighing. He must really calm down. It's his chance to learn a little more about Attano, and he can't just stay far behind him and well…not even say a word to the bodyguard.

Attano has done nothing to hurt any of them. Kent won’t consider him friendly, but he doesn’t ignore any of the whalers when they try to speak to him. Kent shouldn’t be this afraid. There’s nothing to be scared of. He’s-

Just then, a brown paper bag drops right in his field of vision, the rustling sound making Kent flinch hard.

The bag withdraws a little, hesitates, and Kent's eyes fly up to see Attano holding out the bag to him.

Kent just freezes at the close proximity, eyes darting about instinctively to map out an escape path. Attano is really close to him, Kent can see every detail on his face. His eyes look almost amber under the sun and his brown locks frame his face well. One of the most common things people say upon meeting Attano (especially the ladies) is that Attano is startlingly handsome. Kent never thought he would ever get to confirm it for himself, but that, at least, is true. He really is… _very handsome_. 

Attano is studying him very carefully, and Kent shakily takes the offered bag with a muttered thanks after a long minute.

Attano then goes to sit down by the roadside, his other hand clutching a similar paper bag. He then looks up at Kent - which somehow still feels like Attano is looking _down_ on him - and tilts his head, almost…inviting.

Kent tentatively steps over to settle down beside the Royal Protector, an arm's length away.

Attano has bought some scones, and he starts to eat in small bites.

Kent's throat feels too tight, and his heart is pounding so hard he thinks he might faint, but he forces himself to eat.

Kent casts quick glances to Attano while he eats, and he stops breathing when Attano stills, eyes focused on something in a corner. But Attano returns back to normal almost immediately so Kent doesn’t think too hard into it. 

Kent is halfway through his scone.

"Do you cook for everyone in the morning?"

The deep voice, spoken at such a close distance, makes Kent almost choke.

"Uhm…yes. I make the menus everyday." Kent hurriedly says, swallowing the buttery scone.

"It's good." Attano says. "The food, I mean."

"But you don't eat it all."

The statement slips out before he can help it. Kent instantly freezes, turning pale. His hand flies to his mouth in horror. By the Outsider-

"I-I mean-" He tries to salvage the situation.

"…You're not wrong." Attano's reply is a little flat.

"I don't blame you- I'm not angry, really!" Kent is panicking now, completely out of control. He actually understands how Feodor feels now. 

"Calm down, Kent." Attano’s voice is firm, but still gentle. 

Kent bites his lip and forces himself to stop talking.

After a minute, Attano says,

"I apologise if I upset you. It's not your fault."

Kent peeks at Attano from the corner of his eyes. The man is looking down.

"I just don't eat much." The reply is said with an exhale.

"…I-is there something I can cook that could…" Kent swallows. "…help?"

Attano looks at him, tip of his lips quirking up to form a gentle smile.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Kent knows that is a lie, but he can't- doesn't dare to- say anything. They eat in silence. Kent finishes first, crumples his bag, and looks at Attano.

Attano stands up after he’s done, and Kent follows.

"What do you like to eat anyway?" Kent musters the courage to ask, when Attano pauses in front of some kind of toy store.

Attano doesn't turn to face him, eyes focused on a wooden puzzle in the shop.

"I don't have a preference."

"How about drinks?"

"Water is sufficient."

"…Uhm…what do you do in your free time?"

"I don't have much free time."

This is going swimmingly well, Kent thinks, his cheeks reddening.

"Uh…what is your favourite colour then?"

"Are you interrogating me?"

Kent jumps, even though Attano's tone is soft. He turns completely white, his heartbeat spiking. Oh fuc-

"N-no. I-I just-"

There is a short pause. Attano shuffles between both feet.

"…It was a joke."

The reply makes Kent flush very hard, until he can feel his own stuttering heartbeat in his ears.

Attano walks on, and Kent follows him.

A very long silence stretches on. Kent is way too embarrassed to say anything, and he just sticks near Attano awkwardly, face still red.

At lunch, Attano buys some kind of sandwich, and goes to sit by the roadside, eating.

Attano barely gets through half of it before he stops eating, his expression hardening, and Kent feels the same wave of guilt as this morning. Attano then looks up to the corner again, a motion he has been doing quite frequently, but Kent is too nervous to give it any serious thought. 

He once again wonders if Attano has actually met Daud. His brothers are very careful not to speak of him in Attano’s presence, but sometimes, it just slips out, and Attano always tenses up when Daud’s name is mentioned. Kent doesn’t know if the actual _sight_ of the man might actually make Attano unfold the sword he keeps hooked by his side. He doesn’t want to find out.

Kent later sees Attano looking into another toy store again. Attano is looking at some kind of doll in particular, with a very strange, wistful expression on his face. Attano’s eyes suddenly dull, and he turns away, shoulders dropping slightly with a silent sigh. Kent gulps, immediately averting his eyes. 

The day continues, and Kent follows Attano for the rest of the day as the man walks through the streets. 

When they are on their way back to the inn, they reach one particular crossroad, and oddly enough, Kent notices he’s _beside_ Attano rather than behind him. 

He frowns. 

Wait. When did this happen? 

The mere realisation makes him instantly want to back away, to create more distance between them. Attano is the _Royal Protector_ and walking beside him feels…wrong. Now very alarmed, Kent starts to shuffle backwards, away from the Royal Protector. The moment he does that however, Attano tilts his head back to cast a look at him. 

Kent freezes, like a rat caught stealing food, and he opens his mouth, to blurt out something, anything- 

Attano is about to speak, when his head snaps upwards to the left, his eyes focused on _something_. Kent follows his gaze, but he sees nothing, and when he looks back, Attano is staring at him. 

“W-What’s wrong?” Kent asks shakily. Attano’s eyes don’t contain any malice, but Kent feels paralysed under his gaze. 

Attano stares at Kent for a while. His coat looks much bigger than it actually is, and with the setting sun shining from behind Attano, his expression is dark, his form outlined in gold. The shadow he casts is long and large, stretched out, and it looks oddly like an eagle’s claw reaching out for its prey. He considers Kent for a few seconds. 

“Daud has been following us since the morning.” His voice is very still, giving no indication to his emotions. 

Kent’s throat turns completely dry, and he can’t stop the horrified expression from claiming his face.

“Y-You’ve met him?” 

Oh this is the _worst_. What if Attano ki-

“…Yes.” Attano’s reply is a little hesitant. 

Kent swallows, hard. 

“Uh…” Kent doesn’t know what to say. He can’t possibly ask Attano ‘how is he?’ can he? He says nothing instead, and trots behind Attano when he starts walking again. 

When they reach the inn, the sun has just set, and the first thing Kent is assaulted with upon opening the door is the potent smell of…lavender? 

What..? He coughs into his sleeve. 

Feodor’s jaw completely drops when Kent appears behind Attano, and his eyes turn panicked, demanding some sort of explanation from him. 

“Welcome back, Lord Attano.” Devon greets with a nervous smile by the stairs. 

Kent then hears a very loud mewl, sees a flicker of black fur, before the small creature pounces out from wherever it-she has been hiding to greet Attano. The cat is obviously delighted to see Attano, and she rubs her head against Attano’s leg, purring. She then promptly lays her head on Attano’s boot, regardless of how dirty it may be, and just…stays there. 

Kent sees Attano pause, as he tries to nudge the cat off gently with a shake of his foot. The cat doesn’t move away, and stares up at Attano defiantly.

The sight is…almost amusing. 

The mighty Royal Protector stopped in his tracks by a devious feline animal. 

Seconds pass, and Attano finally gives in to the manipulative cat, carrying her into his arms. The cat purrs contentedly at that, buries her head into Attano’s chest and settles in. 

After dinner, Attano retires back to his room (the cat follows him) and it is only then does Kent actually gets to talk with his brothers freely. 

“Did- Did you just _go out_ with the Lord Protector?!” Predictably, Feodor is the first to speak. 

Kent nods, and Feodor looks even more horrified. 

“Did he hurt you? Yell at you?” 

“No.” Kent frowns. “He bought me scones.” 

Kent blinks when he says that, his mind whirring to replay the memory. He remembers the paper bag thrust in his face, the rich taste of the scones, still warm. 

And then he ate them, disposed of the wrapper, got up and-

_Started walking beside Attano._

Wait. 

_Oh by the Void._

Had that been planned? Attano did that on purpose? Kent flushes deeply, very embarrassed. He didn’t even realise a _thing_. 

Just like he never noticed his master _following_ them since _morning_. 

Kent buries his face in his hands, groaning. 

“What?” Feodor asks urgently. 

Kent keeps his face in his hands, not wanting his brothers to see his reddened face. 

“Nothing.” The reply is muffled by his palms. 

He is saved from further embarrassment when the door to the inn opens. Thomas comes in, and his face immediately scrunches up. 

“What is that smell?” 

Right. The smell. Lavender. Why does the room _stink_ of it? 

“Uh…Right. _That_.” Feodor looks away, sheepish guilt written all over his face. 

“I had nothing to do with it.” Devon says quickly. 

“What happened?” Thomas questions, a suspicious look on his face. 

“Feodor over here - the stupid blond head - thought it would be a great idea to go and buy a couple bottles of lavender oil before sneaking into the Royal Protector’s room and-” 

“I was only going to put a little I swear! But the bottle slipped and it broke!” 

“Well actually you tripped at the doorway, tripped over _nothing_ mind you-”

“Oh come on! It’s the _Royal Protector’s_ room. He could have set up a tripwire or someth-” 

“Then how do you explain practically rolling down the stairs and smashing another bottle afterwards?!” 

“I…I” Feodor huffs. 

“I was scared alright?! Are you happy now?!” 

Devon grunts. 

“And so now the whole inn stinks of purple flower juice. We can forget Attano, _Daud_ is going to murder us for making his inn smell like the fucking Golden Cat.” 

“Why did you buy lavender oil in the first place?” Thomas asks, ignoring their bickering. 

“One of Kent’s books said that lavender could help with sleep, so I thought…” Feodor trails off, and Kent blinks at him. 

There is a pause. 

“At least it wasn’t done out of pure idiocy like most things you do.” Thomas lets out a sigh. 

Feodor shoots him a half-hearted glare. 

“Did you end up doing it?” Kent asks. 

“I did.” Feodor looks at him, triumphant. 

“How much did you put?” 

“A few…A couple…” Feodor’s face pales. “Uhm…I _may_ have put too much.” 

Kent stares at him, and then exchanges a glance with Thomas.

They both simultaneously let out a loud groan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am pleased to say that the usage of lavender in this chapter is historically accurate.


	5. A Terrible Morning

Daud needs to punch something. 

The frustration that has been brewing within him has finally started to overflow, and the heat from it is making his body twitch uncontrollably throughout the day. It feels like he’s being crushed from the inside, and he absolutely _hates_ the feeling. 

It is worse than what he felt while investigating about Delilah. 

Most mysteries Daud try to unravel _don’t_ walk around unconcerned, they _don’t_ allow themselves to be prodded and studied, and they certainly _don’t_ openly welcome Daud’s presence. 

_Corvo_ basically lets Daud follow him as he wishes, not hiding anything, and it’s even worse that Daud _still_ can’t understand him. 

He doesn’t know why Corvo spared him, why he doesn’t care if Daud follows him, why he doesn’t attack Daud, or why he’s so fucking stoic. What allows Corvo to be merciful? Why- 

He has no answers for those questions, and it feels worse than defeat. 

Corvo’s a walking remembrance of his failures, taunting, always mocking, and Daud has never felt so annoyed, so purely irritated. 

He’s angered to the point that he can’t even differentiate his anger at himself with the anger directed to Corvo. He’s annoyed that his skills are failing him, and he’s annoyed that Corvo is a box of contradictions and secrets. 

Every time Daud thinks he’s got him, that he’s finally pinpointed every detail that makes up Corvo Attano, the bodyguard has the nerve to overturn everything he’s discovered by acting out of his carefully constructed predictions.

Daud keeps failing, and failing, and he _can’t_ stand it no longer. It’s like being stuck in an endless maze. When Daud painstakingly pieces all the clues and hints, when he _finally_ finds the door that will let him escape, he’s only introduced to a _new_ maze, with new doors and brand new rules. And Corvo keeps dragging him around in circles, never allowing him to find the exit, to never find the answer. 

For the first time in his life, he’s _not in control_. 

It is a realisation that burns him so fully and completely. It strips away everything he thought made him _him_ , and Daud is sick of it. His sleep is gone. His thoughts are gone. His very _time_ is gone. He needs to be back in control. 

He can’t deal with this anymore.

It has been a fucking _week_ , and Daud feels no more enlightened than before, he probably feels like he’s _less_ enlightened, which makes no logical sense. 

The eighth day rolls around and he has another sleepless night, his mind controlled by too many questions with ‘why’s and ‘how’s, so Daud eventually gets off his bed to go downstairs, much earlier than anyone else. A quick cast of void gaze reveals that Corvo is not in his room. When Daud looks up, he doesn’t see the yellow figure seated on the rooftop either, and his mood worsens even more.

He’s grouchy when he doesn’t sleep well, he knows that, so he pulls out the bag of coffee beans, eager to take a cup of the scalding drink and get rid of his weariness.

Kent tiredly comes down minutes later, as he always does, and he mumbles his greetings to Daud, going over to prepare breakfast for everyone else. 

Thomas is next to arrive, smiling and greeting both Kent and Daud. 

Coffee scent fills the air, and soon, the rest of the whalers rouse, tumbling down the stairs noisily. 

By now, Daud would usually have disappeared to avoid meeting Corvo. But today, he thinks, he has had enough. If Corvo refuses to be understood, Daud will pry him open by force and expose him for who he is. 

He won’t tolerate this anymore. 

Daud fills a tray with a cup of coffee and Kent’s newly made soup, while Kent stares at him, puzzled. He goes out to sit by the table, ignoring the same confused stares from the other whalers, and starts to eat. 

He fucking owns the inn. Why should he be questioned if he wants to eat there? 

Corvo’s surprise is evident when he appears, and each whaler freezes, watching between both men nervously. 

Daud sees, from the corner of his eyes, two whalers - Zachary and Feodor – pause at the stairs, before discretely walking back up upon seeing both Corvo and Daud in the same room. They clearly don’t want to get caught in between them both. 

Corvo is wearing a white shirt today, with his grey coat as usual. Daud is certain that his ring is buried somewhere in his pocket. His brown hair is combed down neatly, and his eyes are as sharp as ever. They briefly land on Daud, and they move past him easily, which only annoys Daud further. 

Corvo should want to kill him. He should want to dismember Daud. He should want to burn holes into his body with his glare alone. 

Why- 

Daud’s fingers tighten around the mug handle. 

Kent trots out with a tray for Corvo, as per usual, and he flashes Corvo a nervous smile. Kent makes eye contact with Daud for a quick second, and he runs off back into the kitchen.

The poor whalers that are already eating can’t leave the room without being rude, and their discomfort is obvious for everyone to see. 

Tension is thick in the air, and when combined with the painful silence, a heavy weight crushes down on everyone in the room. Nobody dares to move except Corvo and Daud. 

Corvo isn’t releasing that dangerous aura Daud knows he possesses. It, once again, angers Daud. His lack of violence and high self-control is infuriating, and for _once_ , Daud wants to wipe that fucking stoic expression off his face. He wants to see Corvo give in to the rage _he knows_ is boiling deep within him. He wants to tear away every wall Corvo has erected, lay him bare. He _wants_ to see that monster he knows Corvo keeps trapped deep within him. 

Corvo finishes his own cup of coffee, leaves his soup half-empty, and is about to get up to leave. Like nothing was fucking wrong. 

“Can’t have the decency to finish your food, _Lord Protector_?” 

The whalers all seem to shrink at Daud’s brazen, blatantly rude statement, and they look at him in horror, as still as a statue. 

Daud doesn’t care. 

Corvo stills at Daud’s taunt, and Daud sees the faintest rush of anger within Corvo’s brown eyes, before it disappears, and Corvo starts to walk away.

_Fucking walk away_.

Fiery heat snakes up Daud’s body, blood gushing in his ears, and a swell of sheer rage takes over him.

He is too fucking tired of being played by Corvo. 

He _will_ take control back. 

He will make Corvo play by _his rules_ instead. 

The fucking Royal Protector will dictate his life no longer. 

Daud slams into the bodyguard within a single blink, right foot raised in a kick. It comes crashing down into Corvo’s abdomen, the rough impact throwing Corvo off and sending him reeling back to the floor. 

The Royal Protector is rammed into several chairs and tables laid out in the room, and they topple over with a thunderous crash. 

The whalers are all very pale now, unable to breathe. 

The loud crash fades away into a silence, one that feels heavy enough to break every bone in the body. 

Corvo’s glare at him is darkly satisfying. 

Finally, he shows his true colours. 

Finally he will be exposed. 

Finally, Daud will have him in his palm. 

Corvo’s powerful aura spills out, and Daud delights in seeing Corvo’s face morph to an expression of fury, so much _better_ than the fucking stoic face he has. 

But it is not yet enough. The sight of Corvo on the ground in the pile of fallen chairs only barely sates Daud’s need to degrade Corvo into his animalistic, primal instincts. 

He wants more. 

He needs more. 

He _needs_ it. 

Corvo gets back up on his feet, no sign of pain, eyes falling from Daud. Corvo’s hair lies across his face, the strands thrown out of place. Daud sees his shoulders fall as he lets out a breath, and Daud can feel Corvo retracting his violent energy, eyebrows relaxing back into a neutral position. 

Daud completely snaps at the sight, his anger too much to be controlled anymore. 

_No._ Daud won’t fucking let him. 

He has had _enough_. 

All the pent up frustration has at last broken free, and they now rule his thoughts, his actions. He can’t control himself anymore. There is a small part of him that tries to push back, tries to stop him from doing whatever he’s doing, but the anger is too much, and releasing it feels too intoxicating, too exhilarating. 

He can’t even control what he’s saying. Can’t care to anymore. 

“You think you’re so high and mighty with that fucking honour code of yours, don’t you?” 

Rage returns to Corvo’s eyes, and it is _oh so satisfying_. For the first time, he has Corvo do what _he_ wants. 

For the first time, he will finally act in the way Daud wants him to. 

For the first time, he has a semblance of _control_ back in his life. 

“Well, what does your _honour_ say about _fucking_ Jessamine Kaldwin?” 

The statement rings out, and Corvo turns deadly still, air vibrating with a rampant surge of vicious energy. His eyes flash a ferocious gold, a fire stolen from the sun itself, so hot it could melt everything away. 

And Daud knows, he has struck a nerve. 

He has Corvo. 

Corvo can’t go back now. Daud has just made the inevitable clap of thunder resound, and now, the storm is set loose, snarling, growling, tempestuous winds bursting out and ready to wreck havoc and spill blood. 

Daud sees the barest flare of blue, the colour of whale oil, and he’s hoisted off his feet. 

He is flung back in a savage throw, into the air, towards the glass window, and Daud barely registers the turbulent change in orientation and momentum before he goes _through_ the thin glass panel. 

The shatter is deafening, and the shards crumble, break, and shoot out _everywhere_ , like a volley of bolts being unleashed, and they hail down on him, burying deep into his flesh. 

Daud is slammed down to the ground with such brutal force it makes his head spin and breath falter. There is a burning, insistent pressure on his chest, and the moment Daud’s vision clears, he is harshly pulled up by the shirt collar and smashed back into the ground. 

When his vision clears once more, Corvo is poised above him, wild strands of his brown hair flying loose. The Royal Protector’s eyes are set ablaze, like a hurricane has been crystallised within the orbs, intense, and oozing with power. 

The sight makes Daud feel drunk with power. He has taken back control, and the knowledge that _he’s_ responsible for eliciting such a violent response from the gentle Royal Protector is…delightful. 

There are broken glass shards imbedded into his skin, and the back of his head throbs from being brutally slammed into the ground, but Daud can’t complain when the pain feels _good._

It feels like a tangible form of the suffering he had caused from killing Jessamine. 

It is the pain he has been chasing since the day Corvo spared him. 

The retribution he deserves. 

The punishment he _needs_. 

It is all the pain he should have gotten the day Corvo was delivered to the Flooded District. 

Daud himself has never even realised how badly he wants this, not until he is pinned beneath Corvo, hurt all over. 

He needs to hurt more. 

He _can’t_ allow Corvo to let him go this easily. 

He _can’t_ allow Corvo to walk away again. 

He deserves this. 

He needs to be punished even more.

Corvo is panting, not from exertion, but from trying to hold himself back, and Daud _resents_ the small flicker of self-control he sees left within Corvo’s eyes. 

And then Daud suddenly catches sight of a small flickering shine near Corvo’s neck, and his eyes drawn to it. 

There is a metal chain wrapped around Corvo’s neck, weighed down by a single object at the middle, hanging down from his chest. Daud has never noticed it before, the chain usually hidden inside Corvo’s shirt. 

There is a ring trapped within the metal chain, small and unassuming. With a diamond-shaped emblem stuck to it.

One that looks completely identical to the one he carries somewhere in his pockets, but different. 

Smaller. 

Possibly one owned by a recently murdered empress. 

It clicks, and Daud just laughs out loud. He can’t control himself no longer. Every part of him screams for pain, for it to hurt even more, for it to hurt as much as Dunwall had felt when the plague took control of the city, wiped away her prosperity and desecrated _everything_ to ashes. 

Corvo blinks, momentarily confused, and then Daud’s hand moves up. 

Vaguely, he knows what’s he’s going to do is beyond cruel, worse than the deed of killing the empress itself. But he can’t help it. He is so out of control now, completely taken over by his need to force Corvo to deliver his retribution. 

The chain is ripped open easily with a forceful swipe, and the ring falls away, straight into Daud’s hand. 

The Royal Protector’s eyes widen, all rage replaced by shock. 

He freezes for that short moment.

Daud’s hand raises, and a short cry escapes Corvo when he realises what Daud is about to do, his cry so panicked and horrified, voice louder and more emotional than any sound he’s ever made since coming to Serkonos. 

Corvo thrusts his hand out, trying to snatch it back, but- 

It is too late. 

Daud flings his hand away into a distant corner, the metal object slipping out, and away, its shine disappearing down a crevice in a drain cover. 

There is a stunned pause. 

Corvo’s eyes snap back to Daud, and Daud sees the shock and horror morph into a very dangerous shade that puts the darkest clouds in a thunderstorm to shame. 

Daud feels the blade to his throat, the cold pressure sending both a wash of startling relief and fresh alarm through him. 

But the blade doesn’t move, and Daud can feel Corvo’s hands trembling through the blade. 

Daud knows he should stop what he’s going. He _has_ to, but he just _can’t_. He is a train speeding towards a wall, one that can’t be stopped anymore. There is nothing left for him but to keep accelerating, going faster, and faster, until he finally _crashes_. 

“You must be truly proud of yourself.” Daud says. 

_No, he has to stop._

His mouth ignores the desperate pleas from his mind, and the words continue to tumble out. 

“Gristol is now ruled by a half-Serkonan…”

_No._

“…a _bastard child_.” 

Corvo’s eyes turn even darker, so full of fury and uncontrolled rage that the energy sparks off him, threatening to set fire to everything around him. 

The hand wielding the blade moves- 

And Daud dimly thinks, 

This is it. 

Daud shuts his eyes, and waits for the inevitable. The blade cuts the tender skin at his neck, fresh pain exploding out. 

This is _exactly_ what should have happened. 

Then why is his body burning? Searing? 

Why does his heart beat impossibly faster, trying to fight back against the sharp pressure on his delicate artery? 

Why is there this new feeling flooding and washing off all the anger? Wh- 

_Why is he so terrified?_

Daud faintly hears a clanking sound, and the weight on top him lifts. His mind stills to a stop, and when he finally opens his eyes, the Royal Protector is gone. His hand reaches up to his neck, fingers trembling. The slice there barely nicks the skin, and his hard pulse strains against the torn skin. 

Wha- 

_He’s alive._

The realisation is both upsetting and relieving, and Daud fights to regain his composure. _Why?_

“D-Daud!” 

Daud hears stomping footsteps, and within seconds, Kent is by his side, a terrified but worried expression on his face. 

“Are you alright?” 

Daud nods, his hand still pressed to his neck. 

Why is he alive? _Again?_

Daud pushes himself up, and he brushes off Kent’s attempts to help him. 

“Are you alright??” The question is repeated when Daud doesn’t respond. 

“I’m fine.” Daud forces out, and he looks at Kent. 

The poor boy is so terrified by what just happened, and he keeps blinking rapidly, very close to tears. Daud has not seen such an expression from him since coming to Serkonos, and he feels vaguely apologetic. 

Thomas goes to his other side to pull him up, and it is then does Daud realise that Corvo’s sword is on the floor, stained by a thin stream of blood. 

A chill runs down his spine. That is _his blood_. 

Daud is pushed into a chair minutes later, with Kent urging him to take off his shirt to examine his body. He complies easily. 

Daud tries not to wince when Kent pulls out the glass shards, and he bites his lip to keep silent, although a hiss slips out when Kent basically rips out a large shard in his arm. 

“Sorry.” Kent mumbles. 

Daud doesn’t reply, and just sits there letting Kent work on him. He notices the frown on Kent’s face, and the way Kent’s eyes refuse to meet Daud’s face. He has spent enough time around Kent to be able to read him, and that particular expression means…

“If you want to say something, say it.” Daud says. 

Kent finally looks up, and he looks away just as quickly. 

“I…just think that you shouldn’t have done… _that_.” Kent mumbles. 

Daud waits. 

“He – Lord Attano, I mean - He’s a good man.” 

Daud hisses when Kent pulls another shard from his other arm. 

“I know that.” Daud replies. 

Kent looks up at him, and away again. Kent still has that hard look in his eyes, but his frown is deeper, and his eyebrows are tense. Daud knows that expression as well. Kent is displeased with Daud, and he wants to say something rude to him but refrains from doing so out of respect.

“You want me to apologise to him.” Daud says flatly, and he knows he hit the mark when Kent freezes. 

“You shouldn’t have done that. You knew better than to provoke him.” Kent quietly chides, almost a whisper. 

Kent is silent after that, even though his displeased expression remains. The red-haired physician certainly has many more things he wants to say, but stops himself from doing so. Daud decides not to press him further and takes the rest of the time to gather his thoughts. 

His body is at odds with his mind, and he can’t seem to register that he’s very much alive just yet. He’d provoked Corvo to that extent, and all the man felt inclined to do was to throw him through a window and leave a barely bleeding slice on his neck. 

Why- 

Daud exhales when Kent pulls out another shard. 

He’s confused all over again, and the loss of control starts to dig back into him, until he’s exhausted himself with his own racing thoughts. Everything keeps going in circles, and Daud feels so trapped within that endless maze once more, even more confused than before. There is also a terrible ache within his stomach that doesn’t quite feel like hunger, and Daud can’t exactly discern what it is yet when his mind is overflowing with questions. 

When Kent finally finishes, Daud is much calmer, and his logical thought starts to return, gears rotating back to life. 

It is only then that he is able to classify that sour, bitter feeling swirling in his body as _guilt_.

Heavy, empty, and all too familiar. 

He knows he shouldn’t have done that. He shouldn’t have went blatantly overboard. Why had he done any of that? Why did he decide to mock Corvo like that, and then proceed to throw away his one and possibly last remembrance of his beloved, somebody that _Daud_ murdered? 

Daud had already ruined Corvo’s life once, he was spared (that itself is still a mystery), and since coming to Sekornos, Corvo has been nothing but neutral to him. He may not be friendly, but he has never been violent. He has never scolded Daud, much less said anything to him. He has never harmed any of his whalers - by the Void - he even secretly prepared a cocoa drink for all of them out of kindness. Sure, his gaze on Daud could be furious, but it always only lasted a split second before diminishing back to a stoic, calm gaze. 

And what does Daud do in return? 

Mock him, throw something obviously very precious to him down into the drain. 

Daud can remember the pure horror and shock on Corvo’s face, so transparent for once, as he flung the ring down into the drain. He can still hear his panicked cry. 

That ring is Corvo’s last remembrance of his secret lover – somebody that Daud murdered – and he just threw it away out of…anger? Cruelty? Rage? To make Corvo _kill him_? 

But that doesn’t explain why Daud had felt so scared at the last second. 

Daud clenches his fist, regardless of the pain. He’s so confused, and the pain grounds him, anchors him back to reality. 

There’s too many things running through his mind. He’s confused about himself, confused about Corvo, confused about so many things that he just can’t process them all. 

Daud tries to swallow, but there is a lump at the base of his throat that won’t go away. The feeling – the guilt – it sinks in deeply, through his muscles, deep into bone, and Daud feels it start to bury in, the pain more insistent than the numerous wounds all over his body. 

What he can understand now is clear. 

_He fucked up again._


	6. How a Physician joined the Whalers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some mentions of rape in this chapter.

Kent and Thomas are awake, waiting for Daud to return. The man had left the inn right after Kent treated his wounds, despite Kent’s attempts to get him to rest, and he hasn’t returned yet. Kent has no idea what he’s doing – getting drunk, getting into a fight – everything seems probable with Daud. As Kent’s mind continues to linger on Daud, an explosive trail of thoughts follow. 

His insufferable master is damn right lucky to be even alive after having pulled off such a cruel act this morning. Kent is admittedly still angry with him, and he’s probably going to be pissed off for quite some time. He thought Daud has changed, altered his old ways, and apparently, he _hasn’t_ , evident from the incident in the morning. Daud’s arrogant, violent, hot-tempered, and purely aggravating. He’d been spared once, and he thinks to dance with fate once more with whatever he just did in the morning. Has he not learnt _anything_?! Kent also acknowledges that he’s a a little disappointed as well. He does respect Daud very much, and what happened this morning is threatening to erase all that progress that took _years_ to build.

Kent breathes out once. 

Daud is a very intelligent person, Kent knows that. He knows that the man likes to prod at people and find out everything about them. He _knows_ that Daud has a nasty habit of testing peoples’ limits and angering them in the process, but what he did in the morning went overboard, went _way_ out of line. Daud went all out to provoke Attano, hitting all those vulnerable buttons and willing Attano into an outrage. He’s their master, and he has a responsibility to at least _try_ to stay alive. That responsibility does not involve irritating an uncaged beast for the sake of… _whatever Daud wanted to accomplish_! Whatever his reason, Kent doubts it’s a _good_ reason, and he wants to both strangle Daud and hug him in relief that he’s still alive. 

And then there’s _Attano_. 

Kent winces just thinking about him. Attano hasn’t returned yet either - Kent isn’t even sure if he will – and he wants to apologise to Attano, or do _something_. Attano is a very gentle person, and Kent knows that it must have hurt him when Daud taunted him and basically forced him into violence this morning. Kent’s even surprised that he still let go of Daud, even after what Daud said and did. He has incredible self-control, and Kent feels immense respect for him, and yet, so very sorry to him. 

Attano doesn’t deserve any of that. 

He deserves a heartfelt apology, from Daud and the whalers (and himself), and he deserves to be able to relax for once. Attano is unbelievably strong, but the stress and trauma from Jessamine’s death, Coldridge and Hiram Burrows’s conspiracy have taken a huge toll on him. He doesn’t eat well, doesn’t sleep well either, and Kent can’t imagine he feels any bit of happiness or peace every day in his life. 

And yet he still is kind, gentle, and so understanding. He is a good man. 

He deserves _so_ much better. So why is he getting punished? Why is Daud so cruel to him? 

Kent sighs. Attano has probably left, gone away from the place. Why would he come back, when Daud did such a thing to him? 

Regret starts to dig in. He just wishes he could’ve said sorry. Did something a little more to help him rather than cower away in fear even though Attano has been nothing but kind to him.

Now he’s probably gone, never to return. 

And Kent feels so _awful_. 

The other whalers have cleared the mess from the morning in silence, all too frightened to even say a word. Those with jobs snuck off apologetically, and those that didn’t sat in silence. They all felt scared, and yet, apologetic to Attano. 

What happened is _definitely_ Daud’s fault, and then Kent suddenly remembers Thomas’s grumbling from days ago. “ _It's_ Daud _that concerns me. Getting on people's nerves is an irritating habit of his._ ”

Thomas was right after all. Daud indeed pissed off the Royal Protector. _Badly_.

Thomas had brought back a box of whiskey for everyone in the evening, and the whalers slowly settled back down, and were now, finally asleep. 

Kent looks at Attano’s sword lying on the table, now cleaned and folded back up. None of the whalers dare to touch it, and they just left it there, avoiding it like the plague. Will he even come back to take it? 

Maybe he would come back to kill all of them, Kent thinks sadly. They toppled Dunwall over and destroyed his life, and when Attano gave them a second chance, they blew it and upset him in return. They really do deserve to pay for it.

“You could put in on his table.” Thomas suggests, when he sees Kent looking at it. 

Kent looks at Thomas, about to say something, but he sees the same regret mirrored in his eyes, and he closes his mouth. He gets up, picking up the smooth handle and heads upstairs. 

He really does wish he could have said sorry, could have helped Attano more, could have made him a little happier.

Kent sighs deeply, just as he reaches the third floor, and then…stops. 

He blinks a few times. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it certainly isn’t _this_. 

The second door on the third floor is closed. 

Occupied. 

_Attano is there_. 

Since when did he come back? 

Suddenly, instead of that awful regret, Kent is hit with a strong, solid feeling, as though a slab of concrete is smashed into him. Kent knows this feeling all too well, being the timid, easily frightened person he is. 

_Fear._

He is _scared_ of the Royal Protector.

The flurry this morning was terrifying, although it only lasted mere seconds. The way Attano moved was lightning fast, just like Daud himself. The roar of the glass panel shattering had made Kent startle so hard he knocked back against the wall, and when Daud was crudely slammed down by Attano, Kent fell to the floor, trembling. Kent had never seen Attano move like that before. He was always gentle to Kent, and the way he moved back then…it was violent, with real lethal intent. It is true, Attano _is_ terrifying. He is gentle, but behind that lies a man capable of killing without batting an eye. This morning is evidence of that. 

His legs start to weaken, and he starts to sweat, his heartbeat pounding at his ears. 

He remembers the thunderous shattering of the glass, the way Corvo rammed Daud down. The _violence._

The door suddenly opens, and Kent backs off, losing his balance and falling over with a thump. 

The terror is obvious in his eyes, and when he looks at Attano, the man looks…subdued. He’s not angry, and he doesn’t have the look that he had this morning, the look that wanted to _kill_. 

“What is it?” Attano asks, his voice as gentle as always, although singed with a slight bit of roughness. 

Kent looks away, his heart hammering. He’s still on the floor, and he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to stand back up. 

Attano steps out of his room, his brown hair coming into view. He’s not wearing his coat, dressed in the same white shirt as before, and he reaches out to help Kent up. 

But the horrible sound of glass crashing is still ringing, the screaming sound seizing all control of his muscles. Kent flinches away, wild fear gushing through him. 

Kent doesn’t miss the short widening of Attano’s eyes and subsequent hardening of facial expression. 

Attano steps back. 

He…looks briefly _sad._

Kent’s mouth goes dry. The fear all but drains away, and it is replaced with regret. Attano has done nothing to deserve this, he reminds himself. He hasn’t hurt Kent, and Kent is- 

“I apologise.” Attano says, and Kent just stares at him, shocked. 

Attano doesn’t need to apologise for _anything_. Kent just- 

Suddenly, he’s so frustrated with himself, and he wants to beat himself up for doing this to Attano. 

“N-No, it’s fine. It’s fine.” Kent shakes his head vigorously. 

He gets back up, even as his left leg trembles in protest, and he holds out the sword, doing his best not to tremble. He shouldn’t be afraid. _Attano doesn’t deserve that._

Attano stares at it for a while, before taking it with a soft “thank you” (Kent tries not to flinch back when Attano takes it). Attano’s face then relaxes, eyebrows shifting upwards. A very small, gentle smile follows, and Kent feels even more guilty. 

“Uh-Uhm…Can I talk to you for a moment?” Kent blurts out impulsively, reddening when he realises what he just asked. 

Attano’s smile fades, replaced by a look of surprise, but he nods after a minute, and he backpedals back into his room quietly. 

Kent follows after a heartbeat. Attano sits down on the furthest edge of the bed, still so considerate of Kent, and Kent settles down beside him an arm’s length apart rather than at the opposite end.

Kent casts a furtive glance around the room. The room is dimly lit by a single lamp on the table, and Attano’s grey coat is lying beside it, crumpled into a lump. There is also a faint smell of lavender in the air (that is Feodor’s fault) and it is mixed with a slight sour stench of sewage. 

Did Attano go look for whatever Daud threw away into the drain? Looking at Attano’s slumped shoulders, Kent can guess that he didn’t manage to find it. 

“I’m s-sorry. About what happened…earlier.” 

Attano shakes his head. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“I’m really sorry. He – Daud …” 

Attano stiffens at the name. 

“He usually…isn’t like this.” 

Attano is quiet. 

“Have you eaten..?” Kent asks tentatively. 

“No.” Attano admits. 

“I can make something for you..?” Kent offers. 

Attano smiles at him, lips tilted upwards. 

“It’s fine.” 

Kent feels an odd frustration blending with his regret, and he suddenly wants to hit Attano, scold him, berate him altogether. _He’s not fine._ He’s _not_. How can he be like this when- He bites his lip to stop himself from exploding. 

Kent takes a breath in, and out, looks around the room again. There is a box-like shape hidden behind Attano’s crumpled coat, and its glimmering shine in the light catches his eye. It is an odd metallic thing, and Kent carefully reaches out to take it, under Attano’s watchful gaze. 

When the cold box is in Kent’s hands, he just freezes. 

He recognises the smell. Recognises the traces of brown powder on the lid. 

It is cocoa. 

He’s suspected as much, when the odd drink appeared a few nights ago, but now with the evidence in his hands, he is somehow still surprised. So it was _Corvo_ that made the drink that day. It was _him_ that made it for everyone. 

A deep surge of sadness rolls by, while Kent tightens his grip on the small box. 

Why would he do such a thing..? 

And then Kent jumps off the bed suddenly, jerks upright. He looks back at Corvo, who has a questioning look on his face. 

“Wait here.” Kent tells him softly, taking the box and going back downstairs. 

Five minutes later, Kent carries two steaming mugs up to Corvo’s room. (He makes one extra cup for Thomas as well, telling him that Corvo is upstairs.)

Corvo accepts the mug with a soft “thank you”, palms pressed into the warm surface, and he sips the drink. 

Kent sips his, and the hot milky drink rolls down his throat, warming his insides and letting a soft, soothing sensation lazily spread up to his head and down to his toes. 

Corvo hasn’t eaten anything yet, although he really should. He needs some energy, but Kent really doubts Corvo has the appetite to do so after what happened this morning. He only hopes that the drink can offer him some relief on top of all the horrible ordeals he’s gone through. 

Corvo doesn’t speak, just sits on the bed sipping the cocoa drink. He lets the mug rest on his lap at short intervals, fingers still wrapped around it. 

“How did you meet Daud?” 

The question surprises Kent much more than Daud’s actions in the morning, and he blinks at Corvo, unsure. Why does Corvo want to know?

“You don’t have to tell me.” Corvo says quickly, when Kent fixes him with an odd stare. 

Kent shakes his head immediately. 

“It’s…a long story.” 

Corvo just nods, and Kent takes in a mouthful of the comforting drink, swallows it. 

Kent gulps down another mouthful, the warmth expanding in his stomach, and he starts to talk. 

It had been ten years ago when he first encountered Daud, barely seventeen years of age.

\----------

Kent is a physician. It is something he’s proud of. It earns decent money, and more importantly, it is honest work, so Kent doesn’t mind treating various nobles, citizens and even gang members.

Even at the young age, Kent knows the dangers of upsetting certain important people in Dunwall, so he is eager to please, and he avoids conflict when he can, not that many would be stupid enough to upset a physician. Because of that, he never gets attacked, harmed. He’s protected because of his job, because an honest physician is hard to come by, and everyone in Dunwall can recognise his worth. 

He is walking back home one day after visiting one of the gang members, one who has serious river krust burns on the back. The walls around are illuminated orange, the citizens are all dispersing to head back home. 

The sun is only a few more minutes from setting, and Kent is very eager to go back home, drink a good cup of hot tea, and perhaps study a little.

He likes burying through books on anatomy, herbs, and whenever he can, he takes leftover whale meat from slaughterhouses to practice stitching.

It is a therapeutic activity, the stitching, and sometimes, he loses himself completely for hours and hours until the thread runs out, and he becomes suddenly aware of the insistent sharp ache in his back.

When he finally returns home, he puts down his bag, throws it at some distant corner of the room, and then sighs. He goes to fill up a pot with water to make some tea when- 

He realises he’s not alone in his home. 

He startles visibly, knocking over the pot over himself, cold water splashing all over his torso.

The first thing he sees is the coat. 

One coloured in a bright red. 

The man that wears it is _huge_. His presence seems to take up the whole room, expansive and wide. He immediately exudes danger, and Kent just collapses to the ground.

"D-don't kill me. Pl-please."

The words fly out one split second before Kent even recognises the man.

A scar. 

A red coat.

Daud. Knife of Dunwall.

Kent cowers away, and his legs turn completely numb when Daud steps forward.

His presence feels like…pain. Blood. Feels like the purified essence of death itself, ready to turn the white room _red_. 

Kent's heart starts to pound so hard it actually hurts his chest, and his breathing deteriorates into helpless gasps within seconds. 

Daud takes another few steps forth, steps that feel like an ominous clock ticking, counting down Kent's last few seconds of life. Kent pushes himself impossibly back into the corner in the room.

"You know who I am."

The voice feels like multiple knives piercing his body all at once, and Kent can only tremble and shake, engulfed in the suffocating sensation.

"I have a contract on you. Five thousand gold."

Kent flinches. Terror is pulsating through him in sharp, strong waves, like a million arrows running up and down his body, shredding muscle and skin as they go.

"By a certain…Lord Perth. You know him?"

The name sends a different surge of fear through him.

Lord Perth.

Kent treated him for the flu once, a few months ago. The man was an obnoxious, pig-headed man. He always leant a little heavily on Kent whenever he examined the middle-aged noble, disgusting breaths into his neck.

Kent knew the dangers of upsetting a noble, so he just endured it, no matter how many times Lord Perth pressed fingers to his neck, or brushed over his back, sniffing like some kind of rabid animal. 

It wasn't until the last visit did Lord Perth reveal his true intentions. Kent had exotic red hair and beautiful green eyes after all, and Perth said such looks were wasted as a simple physician. He offered Kent gold, a lifetime supply of it, accommodation, food, clothes, everything…if only Kent agreed to his foul requests of night time pleasure.

Kent had been so horrified (Lord Perth had a terrible glint in his eye when Kent's face paled), and he tried to run, except that Perth pinned him down, sweaty hands roaming over Kent's body, heaving like a dog.

Kent screamed, and Perth stated that the sound was music to his ears, forcing a hand under Kent's shirt, pressing against Kent's bare skin, and then…down his pants.

The wandering hands continued doing as they pleased, tainting every inch of his body, regardless of how much Kent bucked and tried to fight back. He had thought his skin would just burn away under the repulsive touch, except it didn’t, and his skin just kept burning, raw bruises ready to blossom from underneath. And when Perth’s hands loosened for a short second, Kent ripped his hand out and did the only thing he could in sheer panic, stabbing the man with his sewing needle, kicking him off, before bolting out of the house. 

He ran aimlessly for hours, until his legs just gave way to exhaustion, lungs burning. Tears just spilled out after that, uncontrollable sobs racking his body. He burnt his clothes later, scrubbed his body over and over until his skin was raw and bleeding, but the tears didn't stop. 

He was filthy.

_So filthy._

And Kent just cried, and cried, until his body gave up, and he fell unconscious in a corner of his room, covered in sweat and blood.

Kent's eyes fill with burning tears at the memory, and a helpless whine escapes his lips when Daud steps even closer. Kent can't even look at him.

"He paid me to kidnap you. _Alive._ Deliver you bruised and hurt, he specified." Daud's voice is rough like sand.

It takes a moment for it to register.

Cold sweaty touch on his skin, while he thrashes to get away.

A hand down his pants.

Over and _over_.

"Pl-please. No-no. Please don't…" Kent is in tears now, crying, sobbing, begging, devolving back into the broken boy he was when Perth destroyed him into pieces. 

"I don't like kidnappers. Hate them, really." There is something very bitter and painful in Daud's voice.

"And what he plans to do with you…utterly deplorable." Daud shakes his head.

He towers over Kent, and Kent can only tremble and cry, utterly helpless to stop anything. He knows that he can’t escape, and he tucks his knees inwards even more, trying to hide away.

He’s too weak, too helpless. He can’t fight back against _him_. 

"So, I have a better proposition for you."

Kent looks up despite the fear, a tear rolling down his face.

Daud’s scar is sunk into his skin, a harsh line down one side of his face, and when combined with his steel-grey eyes, he has a likeness to a large rabid wolfhound, and it only serves to terrify Kent even more. 

"Work for me, and I'll kill him."

Kent shakes his head violently without hesitation, tears falling. He won't kill. He won't be an assassin. He's a physician!

"You don't need to kill. Your work will solely be as a physician. You will be paid, have food, shelter, protection." Daud's voice softens just slightly.

Kent just stares at him. He's mad, probably. He was paid to kidnap Kent, and now he'd just offered Kent accommodation, protection, and work. Everything he will need.

And he won't have to kill.

That's…impossible.

"Do you accept or not?" Daud barks out, folding his arms.

Kent jumps at the tone, nods out of impulse.

"Then get up. Stop wailing like a child." Daud snaps, moving over to grab Kent.

Kent flinches, because he doesn't see Daud's red coat and gloved hand. He sees Lord Perth reaching out for him with hairy, disgusting arms, sneer in his face, slippery tongue ready to lick any patch of bare skin.

Kent violently knocks the arm aside, before he pales, realising exactly what he'd just done.

"S-sorry. I'm so sorry!" Kent stammers out, more tears spilling over. He’s done it now. He’s _doomed_. 

He doesn't think it is possible for Daud to look even more intimidating, but he achieves it, his expression darkening. Daud is seething now, a deep fury crackling beneath his skin.

Kent feels very faint, his heart beating like a rabbit, and his limbs are completely numb.

"I'll _fucking_ kill that bastard."

The very words feel like a tangible beast, slashing the air open with viciously sharp claws.

"Come with me." Daud's voice simmers back into a low boil.

Kent wants to obey, but his limbs fall away, and he just can't stop bawling, can't stop the ragged gasps and the suffocating fear infused in his blood.

He can't even think properly. He feels disconnected from the rest of his body, like his mind just got severed and started running off on its own, while Kent can only look on helplessly as he is wrecked by the memories, the fear, everything.

He doesn't remember anything else, other than a sharp, distinct pain at his neck, before he is sent into a warm dark abyss.

He wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, and Kent jerks upright, fresh fear assaulting his body.

He looks around, and sees that he's in some kind of house (not his). The skin on his face feels tight with dried up tears, and his eyes are terribly sore.

Daud appears minutes later, and Kent knocks his head back into the wall out of fright.

"He is dead." Is all Daud says, throwing over a set of clothes, and leaving the room.

It is a blue whaler suit, and Kent puts it on experimentally. It is a few sizes too big, and it looks so very odd on his skinny form.

Kent meets the other whalers later, and their eyes widen at his blue uniform, before narrowing.

Most are wearing a grey outfit, and their heavy, predator gaze makes Kent very uncomfortable.

It doesn't take long before he's become a target for them. He hasn't been through the rites and training like the rest after all, and he doesn't deserve the blue drabs, they say.

One blond-haired one, Feodor. He is the worst of the lot, constantly harassing and humiliating Kent to the point that Kent cries himself to sleep almost every other night.

They take away his clothes, burn them, and Kent is forced to talk to Daud for a replacement each time.

He hates it, but he's small, helpless, and he thinks he might deserve it. Mice deserve to be eaten by wolves, don't they? He can’t even protect himself; he doesn’t even deserve to be given everything he needs here with Daud. Just like what happened with Lord Perth and Daud, he is too weak to help himself, and the only thing somebody like him can do is to just go along with what he’s given, and hope he doesn’t get killed in the process. 

It isn't until the third time he goes to Daud that his master actually gets suspicious.

When Kent shakily tells him he misplaced the clothes (again), Daud just narrows his eyes, until Kent can't stand his stare any longer, just stands there trembling and close to crying.

But he gives Kent the outfit, dismisses him without a word.

Daud summons all the whalers to the meeting room hours later, and the other grey-clothed whalers glare openly when Kent comes in dressed in blue.

"It has come to my attention that some of you have been harassing other members in the group." Daud says, eyes on Feodor in particular.

"I would suggest you stop. Because if any of you returns back bloodied and close to death, I'm not the one stitching you back together."

Everyone is silent after that, as the meaning of Daud's words sink in. Kent can feel shocked gazes on him, and he pulls his hood down further self-consciously, unable to tolerate the heavy stares from the others.

They stop bullying Kent after that, much to his relief. 

Feodor is the only exception. The man seems bent on punishing Kent, silently mocking Kent with his presence.

Kent is grateful that he has inherited Daud's blink ability unlike some of the other whalers, and he is quick to run off whenever he sees the tuft of blond hair.

This continues for months until Kent bumps into Feodor at a doorway. Kent startles, jumps, and retreats back a number of steps at the sight of blond hair.

"Kent-" Feodor tries to speak, but Kent has already turned away and started to run off in the opposite direction.

"Stop running!" Kent hears Feodor's exasperated shout behind him, but he doesn't stop, runs even faster in fact, blinking at certain intervals to get away.

He sees a blur of red past the planning room, barely sees the long scar, but he has built up so much momentum that he can't stop, and Kent bolts straight past him, Feodor close behind.

He's in so much trouble right now, he thinks helplessly.

He loses stamina at the infirmary, and Feodor closes in, a hand grasping around Kent's wrist so Kent can't blink away.

"Wait." Feodor pants.

Kent freezes, wide-eyed. 

"Wait, Kent please. Don't run away." He says between breaths, face covered in sweat.

"Look…I'm sorry alright? I…I'm sorry. Really, I am. I'm so sorry."

His blue eyes look alarmingly bright at such a close proximity.

“I’m so sorry, Kent.” Feodor repeats, and his hands tighten around Kent’s wrist. 

It takes a few moments for Kent to understand that he’s not going to get hit, that he has just been… _apologised_ to. It then clicks, and Kent finally understands exactly what is going on.

Feodor has wanted to apologise for months now, that's why he kept trying to look for Kent. He wasn't trying to mock Kent or hurt him. But Kent kept fleeing, or running away, and the poor whaler could not even have the chance to say sorry.

Kent blushes very hard at the realisation, and Feodor turns red in return, equally embarrassed.

Kent and Feodor become good friends within weeks.

\----------

Kent does his job well, and years pass. He doesn't actually know what kind of jobs the whalers - and his master - take up; he hasn't dared to ask Daud or his other brothers.

He is just the physician after all. He has no right to know, he thinks.

The other whalers like him very much. They always say he's the most decent human being around, and many times, they come into the infirmary just to speak to Kent. He's a good listener they say, and he's not judgemental, so the whalers are mostly friendly to him. Kent doesn't mind it, and he always obliges even if they wake him late at night seeking company.

Daud generally doesn't speak to him. He nods at Kent when he sees him around, but otherwise, their interaction is limited to the rare times Daud has gotten injured and requires Kent's help to treat the wounds. In those rare times, Daud is more talkative, much more so than with the other whalers.

"Chester came into the infirmary in the afternoon, didn't he?"

Kent nods, rummaging for his supplies.

Daud is sitting on the chair with an open wound on his back, shirtless. Kent has no idea how he got hurt, but he doesn't ask.

"…it's the third time he's shot himself with the wristbow." Daud says, a frown on his face.

Kent nods again.

Daud doesn't rush him. He’s usually very impatient when training the other whalers, but he just watches Kent look around the infirmary although his wound must be burning with pain.

"I don't know why he uses himself as target practice. We procured training dummies for a reason." Daud grumbles.

Kent snorts at that remark. 

Other conversations with Daud follow the same pattern, and Kent always feels a rush of...pride…when his master talks to him like that. Kent might even venture to say that Daud favours him over the others, although he never allows himself to indulge in the thought.

Then Feodor returns back severely injured one day, and Kent is stricken, very worried. There is a gunshot wound to his chest, and the amount of blood coming out is very alarming. Kent usually keeps a calm face when it comes to treating the whalers so they can't discern whether the wound is serious or not, but with Feodor, Kent's pale face is enough to make Feodor smile sadly.

Feodor is the closest he has to family, like a younger brother he never had, and for once, Kent curses the medical knowledge he has, as he is well aware of the severity of the wound, and he knows he might lose Feodor.

Feodor pats him on the arm in comfort, but his hand is bloodstained and it only makes the heavy feeling in Kent's stomach dig deeper.

Feodor falls unconscious right after that, and finally, the tears Kent has been trying to hold down for Feodor's sake spill out, and they quickly break into loud sobs that send Thomas and Devon rushing into the infirmary to comfort him.

Past the agony and anxiety Kent feels, he faintly sees Daud standing at the doorway, watching with a very sombre look on his face.

Thomas is hugging him, hushing him, but Kent can feel him shaking too, and he forces his sobs to quieten. He's not the only one suffering. He can't be this selfish.

Kent finds Daud in the infirmary later late in the night, after Kent was coaxed away from Feodor's side to eat.

His master is sitting in a chair by the table, face buried in his hands. He looks…different. Kent is so used to seeing his tall confident form that he actually takes a few seconds to realise that that is _Daud_ sitting by the table.

Daud jerks up when Kent looks in, and Kent barely sees his grey eyes fill with uncertainty and surprise, before Daud returns back to his usual form, unreadable and quiet.

Kent tentatively steps in when Daud motions for him to do so.

"I killed the empress today."

Kent's breath just stops, and when it finally hits him, his face turns very white.

Jessamine Kaldwin, protector of Dunwall's citizens, defender of the poor, the weak, the discriminated, the very people the whalers themselves descend from. She was just, fair, kind, such a sweet, lovely ruler whom you had to try extremely hard to hate.

Daud just _killed_ her. 

And Feodor is _dying_ because of that.

Anger is the next thing he feels, thick waves crashing into him and breaking down his logical thought to give way to pure, unfiltered fury. Anger is an emotion very foreign to Kent, it takes a lot to get on his nerves and he is quickly overwhelmed by the sensation, intense and hot.

Daud may be giving him accommodation, protection, everything he needs, and Kent should owe him everything, should see him as his saviour except -

He just killed _Jessamine!_

His master is no saint. He just killed _the empress!_

Feodor is _dying_ because of that!! 

He thinks of Lord Perth, and then he sees Daud in front of him, and suddenly, they feel like the same person. 

The same _monster._

The expression that crosses Kent's face makes Daud sigh out loud.

Daud never sighs. He never shows weakness. Daud is the Knife of Dunwall. He's invincible, perfect, emotionless. He's - and then Kent stills - _He's not a person. He's a monster._

"I…made a mistake." Daud says. "Hate me if you wish. I'm the reason why Feodor is lying there."

It feels as though a bucket of ice was just doused over Kent when he says that, and his anger evaporates away under the chill. 

Kent's eyes widen.

He cannot reconcile this stranger in front of him to be his proud, powerful master.

Daud never says such a thing. He’s cold, he’s strong, he’s not this – Kent’s fists clench – _weak_. 

And then Daud disappears, and the next time Kent sees him, Daud is back to normal, barking orders and scolding the novices, any trace of the stranger he met in the night gone. 

Daud's room is beside the infirmary, and for the next six months, Kent hears pained growls and shouts from the room next to his at night, and Kent just lies still through it all, too scared to move. He never asks Daud about it. Sometimes he even thinks Daud deserves it.

Feodor fortunately fully recovers in a month, and Kent is beyond overjoyed to have him back.

Kent had broken down crying out of sheer relief when Feodor first woke up, completely inconsolable, and Feodor just weakly smiled at him and called him a "worrywart".

Months pass, and one day Daud and a few other whalers return drenched in blood.

It is not human blood though, the viscosity and colour are wrong, Kent knows that of course.

For the remainder of the day, the rest of his brothers are quiet, whispering whenever Daud is nearby.

The whaler group is fragmented now. There is a group Kent considers his brothers, and another group he doesn't quite like. They consist of people who kill for fun, who plan on betraying Daud for coin, those who Kent can't even see as human anymore. Daud is close to being a member of the latter.

Kent later finds out that Daud blew up a whole slaughterhouse, killing everyone in it.

Kent is beyond horrified, and in his mind, there is now a _third_ group of whalers, consisting solely of Daud. Something worse than a monster. Something so disgusting and hellish that it disgraces the very definition of monster.

He avoids Daud after that, talks to him only when necessary, and tries not to stay in the same room with him.

That is until Daud gets hurt in some mission in the Legal district, and Kent is forced to stitch up a long slash down his arm.

It's the first time Daud has gotten this badly hurt since Kent joined the whalers. He usually sees such severe wounds on the novice whalers. 

Kent tries not to look at him as he pulls out the needle and thread.

Daud actually speaks to him, which makes Kent think of the stranger he'd met the night Jessamine Kaldwin was killed, seated in the very chair he is seating in now.

"I tried not to kill them." Daud says, so softly that Kent almost mistakes it as a stray gust of wind.

"I don't- It didn't work. I didn't know it would be this difficult."

Kent doesn't know how to reply him, and continues stitching up the wound.

"And the kidnappings - I didn't want to. But the-" Daud stops, and Kent briefly peeks up, unsure.

He looks like a stranger again, a very pained expression on his face, pain that doesn't come from the wound on his arm.

"The plague killed off half the population. There weren't many jobs and-"

Daud stops yet again.

Kent's needle stills, because Daud is clenching his fist, and it's making the muscles in his arm tense. He can't stitch like that.

A long sigh follows.

Daud…His master looks upset. Confused. Lost.

Kent didn't even know it was possible for him to make such expressions. Monsters don't doubt their actions. They don't _feel_. The person in front of him, he is…human.

Daud relaxes his arm, and Kent continues stitching.

He…doesn't know what to say. That he deserved it? That it was okay? No.

Dunwall is getting bleaker and darker each night, and soon enough, there won't be much of a city no longer. 

Is it Daud's fault?

Perhaps.

"…There is a box under my bed, with money in it. Enough for somebody to be smuggled past the quarantine line." Daud's voice is naturally rough, but now, it holds an intonation that somehow makes it smooth, and unbelievably soft.

"Enough for somebody to escape to Serkonos…”

Kent freezes.

"…and set up a clinic there."

Kent's fingers slip, and the needle falls to the ground, Daud's wound halfway sealed.

What?

How- 

Fresh alarm fills him, and he looks at Daud, the first time he's properly looked at him in weeks.

Daud…looks tired.

He's never realised how much the strain of everything would bear down on his master, and when he looks at his master now, he can see it. He can see the plague etched in his tense shoulders, the incarceration of the Royal Protector sunk in his forehead, the death of Jessamine in his eyes. He can see the entirety of the six months carved into Daud like words on a book, hollowing out his expression and leaving behind a husk of a man, crushed by an immense weight and trapped in a never-ending storm.

Kent swallows.

He remembers writing in his journal, crammed full with his private thoughts and wishes.

He remembers penning down that lofty dream. The sun in Serkonos, laughter in the air. His very own clinic. The smiles of the people he saved.

Not like the rain here. The silence of death. The screams of pain, the hopeless ramblings of people who _don't_ want to be healed.

Kent's eyes are still on Daud, and the brief mix of anger and embarrassment of Daud reading his journal fades away at a sudden realisation.

His master had brutally murdered Lord Perth all those years ago because he knew how Kent suffered because of him.

He refused kidnapping jobs because he hated kidnappers. He got the whalers to stop bullying him. He talks to Kent in an almost friendly way in the infirmary while being treated for a wound.

It is easy to forget but:

Daud is human. He has morals.

Daud may try to hide behind thick layers of ice and a fiery, threatening look, but,

He has a _heart_. 

Kent snaps back up, mumbles an apology and picks up the fallen needle, sterilising it.

He has to concentrate.

They don't say anything else until Kent finishes stitching the wound.

Daud remains in the infirmary, and Kent has the odd feeling that he's waiting for Kent to say something. _Anything._

There is only one thing Kent wants to know, and for the first time in Daud's presence, he doesn't stutter.

"Why did you kill her?"

There is only one _her_ Kent can be talking about.

Daud doesn't look at him, and he pauses for a long enough time that convinces Kent that he isn't going to reply.

"The money." Daud huffs out. "You're not the only one who dreams of leaving Dunwall."

It is Kent's turn to pause, taken aback by the sudden admission. He's…never expected that. And he can't judge Daud for saying so either.

"Then why haven't you left?"

Daud pauses, for an even longer time.

"…There is something else I have to finish." 

The answer is very vague, but Kent decides not to ask him further, and nods instead.

\----------

Kent has never really liked Lurk. Something about her unnerved Kent, and his instincts always told him not to trust her. But Lurk seemed to like him, and Kent remained impartial towards her.

His bone-deep suspicion is confirmed when Lurk vaguely tells him to leave the Flooded District one day.

"There's something you need to do at the refinery. Daud said so."

Something in her voice is off, and Kent actually thinks of running off to warn somebody. But Lurk is sharp, and she notices that Kent has paused a bit too long.

He is pinned beneath her within seconds, and a hand goes to clamp his mouth before Kent can think to scream.

"Please just- " Lurk starts, sighs.

"You know, I did like you best. The nicest among us, really. You don't deserve what's coming, Kent."

A sleep dart is shot into his neck, and the last thing he hears is "I'm so sorry".

He wakes up later at the outskirts of the Flooded District, in an abandoned house.

He returns to see a massacre, scent of fresh blood in the air. Lurk betrayed them. Sent Overseers into the Flooded District.

Kent's brothers are _dead_ because of that, but somehow, he can't feel the full rage he should feel, not when Lurk's "I'm so sorry" still echoes in his mind.

Daud is in the infirmary crouched above the…dead bodies, and he looks faintly relieved to see Kent unharmed.

"I didn't kill them." Daud suddenly says, when the other whalers leave and he’s alone with Kent. "The Overseers, I mean."

Kent blinks at him.

"And Billie-" Something cracks in Daud's stony expression at the name. "I let her go."

Kent can sense his hurt. His pain. He can hear the screams and shouts Daud wants to let loose. He can see the anger and sadness that wants to break free. He can see the violence that Daud wants to unleash upon the world. He can see everything, and he does the only thing he can do.

" _I'm sorry._ "

Daud shakes his head at the apology, and leaves.

\----------

Days later, Kent treats the wounds on a certain Lizzy Stride. He asks no questions about it, just does his job.

Feodor is out more frequently on missions, and one day, a whole group of them leaves for a few days with Daud before coming back.

When Daud returns, he has numerous odd wounds on his body. They don't seem to be inflicted by mechanical weapons, and the only other cause Kent can think of is supernatural causes.

Daud sinks into the chair when Kent fixes up his injuries and he notices that Daud looks different. His shoulders aren't tense. In fact, they are lowered, in a strange kind of resignation.

"Corvo will come for me soon." Daud says determinedly. "You could leave, before he comes."

There is a hard tone in his voice, grave almost. He only has that voice when Daud expects something disastrous to happen. When he expects a mission to go _bad_. 

Kent remembers the offer Daud made weeks ago.

His dream.

He could do it. Daud is letting him.

_But._

He thinks of the way Daud spared Lurk, spared the Overseers. He's…changed.

So Kent looks straight at him, and shakes his head.

"I-I'll stay. I'll stay till the end."

Daud’s eyes widen in disbelief, and he nods, just very slightly, a motion that sounds like…‘thanks’.

\----------

Days later, they are on board a ship to Serkonos.

Kent expects Daud to be relieved, to finally shed that stressed expression ingrained in his face for months.

But he is not.

He doesn't look _stressed_ either. It is an entirely new expression. One with a deeper furrow of his eyebrows and a lighter frown.

Kent has no idea what Daud is feeling, but he doesn't ask either. Daud will tell him if he wants, and Kent will listen, just as he's been doing ever since he joined the whalers.

Months pass, and each whaler falls into a new routine. A few work at the inn itself, while the others find odd jobs at factories, shops and other places. Kent continues to work as a physician, and he is happy visiting patients and making them smile once more. Even Daud has fallen into a new routine. He is especially busy during the months close to Fugue, and he handles all the administrative work behind the inn, keeping track of the accounts and other financial matters.

It is a very different life than in Dunwall. More peaceful, more content.

It is wonderful.

Kent isn't as fearful of Daud anymore. He stops stuttering around him and starts to be more comfortable in his presence.

Kent himself has never been happier, and he is sure all his brothers feel the same. He hopes Daud feels the same too, even though he occasionally has an outburst at the whalers when they mess up the accounts or do something stupid.

Then one day Daud asks Kent to come with him for lunch.

It is a very odd request, but Kent complies.

Kent treks behind his master that morning, and Daud doesn't say a single word along the way.

It is terribly awkward, and Kent starts to feel nervous again. He has no idea why Daud has asked him for lunch. Had he done something wrong? Had he offended Daud some way and was going to get punished?

Daud continues walking, while Kent's thoughts fly uncontrolled, in so many different directions that makes him even more confused.

Daud brings him to a certain crossroad, and Kent unconsciously turns and looks down the right street. It is a secluded street, with few things of interest, but Kent patronises that particular street rather frequently for…a reason.

Daud turns sharply to the right, and Kent blinks at his back quizzically. The street does not lead to any food place, well, not any shop for lunch at least, so why..?

Kent is quickly distracted when he catches sight of _the reason_. He discretely peeks at it, and then Daud stops, and Kent looks up at him, alarmed.

Instead of the promised food, Daud holds out a single key.

Kent just stares, confused.

He stares at the key, such a small metallic thing, and then notices that Daud is standing beside-

Kent's mind goes completely blank.

Daud is standing beside an empty shop house.

The very reason why Kent comes by almost daily since he found it just to look at it.

Kent stares at the key, back at Daud, stares at the shop house again, and back at Daud.

Daud says nothing, and it takes a while for Kent to gingerly take the key.

He holds the small thing, already so precious and fragile.

It fits into the lock perfectly, and when Kent opens the door, he is greeted with clouds of dirt. The wooden boards are covered with a layer of dust, and the place smells old. It is just an empty space, and the place is absolutely filthy and grey, but- 

Kent can already imagine where the table will be, where the cabinets will be, where he'll be seating, where the sun will shine from, everything.

He can see _everything._

He is instantly engulfed by a torrent of emotion, intense and almost suffocating.

In Kent’s mind, he liked to imagine that his dreams formed a tiny garden, each one a lone flower of varying colours and heights. Some were large and vibrant, others were easy to miss, blending in with the leaves and shyly announcing its presence to the world with the unfurling of soft petals. 

Most of his flowers wilted or got brutally trampled along the way as he grew up. It was natural. It was _Dunwall_ after all. 

But what truly destroyed him was Lord Perth. Because of the man and what he did, Kent’s whole garden of dreams was set on fire, and he was left in a charred, blackened wasteland, with absolutely nothing left. 

He had lost everything, and he had _nothing_ to live for. So Kent swore, it would _never_ happen again. He would make sure of it. 

He let his flowers sprout selectively after that. He never allowed himself to admire them too closely, and more often than not, he would let them die before they could even bloom. If he never knew how beautiful they were, he would not miss them after all. He would never have to face the inevitability of his dreams dying off and getting destroyed. He would not have to feel all that disappointment ever again. 

But this one dream of his: setting up a clinic in Serkonos. 

It was a small, viciously stubborn thing, like a tiny white flower pushing its way out and growing through the cracks at the roadside. Kent’s thoughts lingered on it too much, and he had never been so determined to get rid of a flower so badly. It just wasn’t a flower anymore. It had turned into a weed, and if Kent wasn’t careful, it was going to spread and destroy his life in the future. 

But Kent underestimated its tenacity. No matter how much he tried to ignore it like the other dreams he had, no matter how much he tried to stomp it dead, the small white flower always came back, blooming even in the darkest shadows, _especially so_ in the darkest shadows. 

When Kent realised it wasn’t going to go away, he had been so terrified. He finally understood how deep and expansive the deceptively small flower’s roots were, he finally realised how much that dream meant to him, and how much he treasured it. 

It frightened him. 

He started to guard his little flower very carefully, hiding it away from view, tightly sealing it away in his heart. He could let his other flowers get trampled away, but this, _no_ , he would uproot _all_ his plants if that was what it took to allow his one little white flower to survive. 

In the long dreary months in Dunwall, his thoughts would stray, and Kent could not help but escape into the garden in his mind for recluse. Something to help him through the lonely, despairing days in Dunwall. He would pick up his favourite white flower with trembling hands, and for once, go close enough to admire its beauty. But each time, he would stop himself from truly memorising the particular shade of its petals and he would never allow himself the luxury of feeling how soft its tender leaves were. 

He could not allow himself to see it as anything more than a dream after all. It would always be considered just that, merely a dream, a product of imagination, _never_ a possibility. It could never be real. He couldn’t yearn for it. The more he wanted, the more he expected, the more devastated he was going to be when it got crushed. He had to hide, shield it. 

That way, it could never be _broken_. 

That way, it could last forever. 

But now-

All of a sudden, without any warning, his stubborn white flower has broken free from the garden. Somehow, it has transcended past the confines of his mind and is thrust into his hands, and Kent can finally see how white its petals are, feel how soft its leaves are, smell its sweet aroma. 

Kent doesn't have to imagine no more.

He can stop playing pretend.

He doesn’t need to _dream_ anymore. 

He can allow himself to _hope_ , to _feel_.

He can allow himself to _live_. 

He can-

His eyes well up, and he launches himself at Daud, arms wrapping around the older man. Daud stumbles back in surprise, and Kent feels the tears start to flow out uncontrollably. They roll down his face, down his neck, staining Daud’s clothes, but his master doesn’t mind. Sobs come, his body too overwhelmed by emotion to function, and Kent just can’t stop himself from crying. Words of thanks follow next, babbled out between gasps, and Kent faintly hears Daud say, 

“You’ve always been a crybaby.” 

But Kent doesn’t care one bit. 

His tiny white flower made it. Against all odds, it _made_ it. It survived. Kent can open his very own clinic, and he now he can finally stop hiding and go out to tell _everyone_ about it.

He has no idea how long he spent just crying, but Daud doesn’t seem to care, and when Kent finally regains his composure, he sees the faintest smile on Daud’s face, how relaxed the man has become, and oddly enough, Kent just starts crying all over again, and Daud gets trapped in a tight embrace once more. 

Afterwards, there is a stupid grin on Kent’s face he just can’t get rid of, and he is so excited and ecstatic that he can’t stop bouncing around like a rabbit. 

When he returns back to the inn, it takes Feodor just one look to understand.

"Oh, did Daud show you it?" Feodor asks.

Kent blinks at him, shocked. 

"How..?"

"Don't tell Daud this, but Thomas and I were there when the epic haggle took place. It was truly a sight to behold, the Knife of Dunwall exercising his impressive array of skills to turn a poor innocent man into a blubbering mess. It was very entertaining to witness." Feodor grins proudly. 

Thomas looks like he’s holding back his laughter, and when a rough voice resounds behind them all, Feodor’s cheerful smile is instantly wiped away. 

"So, what did you _not_ want to tell me?" 

Daud stands at the doorway, fixing Feodor with a glare.

Feodor just looks at the red-cladded man, and back at Kent.

" _Oh fuck_."

And he blinks away.

Daud just shakes his head, snorts and walks off. 

Kent, on the other hand, tightens his grip on the tiny key in his pocket. 

Daud probably followed him on some occasion and noticed Kent staring at the empty shop house. How many times did Daud follow him? Once? Twice? How long did he wait before buying it?

He probably didn’t know how much this meant to Kent until Kent completely broke down in front of him upon receiving the gift.

And Kent knows, Daud may have made many mistakes, he may have killed Jessamine and almost made Feodor die because of that. He may have been the catalyst in the downfall of Dunwall, but since coming to Serkonos, but Kent _knows_ that he’s changed. 

Daud _tries_ to be less hot-tempered, and he _tries_ to listen instead of striking. Daud is much more understanding now, he’s determined to _change_ , to become a better man, and Kent has nothing but upmost respect and support for him. 

He’s been saved from a life of prostitution, given a job, protection, accommodation, food, and now, Daud just helped him fulfill his lifelong dream. 

Kent owes the man everything.

\----------

Corvo listens to everything, not interrupting Kent at all. He is very quiet when Kent finishes, a thoughtful expression on his face. The mug on his lap is empty, as is the mug in Kent’s hands.

“Thank you for telling me.” Corvo says softly, after a long minute. 

“It- It’s fine.” Kent replies, even as he blushes. He just told Corvo _everything_. His lowest moments. His highest moments. All his vulnerabilities. He has never told anyone his deepest secrets before, not even Daud, but he finds that he doesn’t regret it, even if it still embarrasses him. 

But now that he just recalled his whole story, his faint anger at Daud starts to disappear. He knows Daud is _trying_. He really is. Whatever made him do what he did in the morning, it must have really made him lose control of himself. Something must have been torturing him for the whole week before he plainly snapped like that. Kent doesn’t know the real reason, he won’t ask, but there is one thing he is confident of: 

That Daud is truly trying to change. 

It is then does Kent realise why he is open to telling Corvo everything. He’s usually wary of strangers, distrusting, and Corvo is the _Royal Protector_ , which should further dissuade Kent into telling him such a private story. 

But he trusts Corvo, that is one reason. 

More importantly, he wants Corvo to know how important Daud is in Kent’s life. He wants Corvo to know that Daud is different now. That he does regret what happened, and that he’s changing. He doesn’t want Corvo to go away thinking Daud is a sad bastard fixed on his old habits. 

And he perhaps – and Kent bites his lip at the thought – hopes that Corvo might give Daud a second, a third, or maybe a fourth chance to change his mind about Daud. As many chances as it needs for Daud to learn and become a better person. And he hopes that Daud will take that chance seriously, Kent owes Daud _everything_ after all, and the least Kent can do is to try help him make peace with himself, and maybe, just _maybe_ … make peace with Corvo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh wow, this chapter became much longer than I anticipated, but here it is! Thank you to everyone who is reading this story nonetheless. :)  
> And if anyone wants to say hi: bunnycombed.tumblr.com


	7. Coming to a decision

Corvo is in a lavish ballroom, gilded in gold, long luxurious lengths of silks draped over tables. Smooth music is playing, a tune that Corvo doesn’t recognise, and the room smells of perfume, with the faintest smell of alcohol in the air. 

He then smells a strong waft of lavender, fresh, sweet, soothing. Like being dropped into a field of lavender itself. Corvo tilts backwards and…gets wonderstruck by the goddess standing in front of him. 

Jessamine looks so beautiful. 

Her dark hair is pinned up, exposing a slender neck, small baby hairs falling down the curve of her neck. Her eyeshadow makes her eyes radiant, so vibrant that Corvo thinks he doesn’t mind staring into them forever. The rouge on her lips make it look fuller, plumper, so very soft. 

It takes a while for Corvo to look her in the eyes, and when he does, he sees the playful shine in her eyes. Jessamine knows what effect she has on Corvo, and she always delights in watching the way his eyes flicker past every detail on her body. 

“Lord Protector, always so early.” 

She only has that tone in private, teasing and high, sweet like birds chirping in the morning. Corvo indulges her with a soft smile, and Jessamine beams at that, returning a smile of her own.

It lifts her entire face, and the smile feels as though it could even attract the very stars in the night sky to fall to the ground to revolve around Jessamine herself. It makes Corvo want to destroy every painting of her, for it does her smile no justice indeed. She looks so alive here, like a flower in bloom, and Corvo thinks, 

_She is so beautiful._

There is nobody in the room yet – Corvo has glanced about furtively - and they have a short private moment together. 

Jessamine waits, knowingly, and when Corvo turns back to her, her arms are by her side. Corvo reaches out, slowly, while Jessamine still waits. 

Jessamine always said Corvo is like a sparrow when it comes to this: their love. The more Jessamine tries to wrestle affection out of him, to catch him or corner him, the more Corvo will fly off and hide away. But if she waits long enough, quietly enough, if she pretends he’s not there long enough, Corvo will hop softly to her side, press his face to her, nuzzle her maybe. 

And Corvo does just that. 

His arms go around Jessamine, and he buries his head into the crook of her neck, gently inhaling the soft sweet aroma that makes a tingling buzz run down his spine. His brown hair falls over her shoulders messily, but he doesn’t care, closing his eyes, soaking in this short moment where nothing matters but Jessamine’s warmth and this alluring scent. 

She knows it’s Corvo’s favourite, and she wears it as often as she can, even though she can most definitely afford more luxurious scents. 

Corvo pulls away after a few seconds. He never allows himself _too much_ in public, not when anyone can stumble in and catch them together. But he presses a soft kiss to her forehead before withdrawing, and Jessamine smiles at that. 

That particular smile, the slight curve of her lips, the shine in her eyes. It is a look reserved only for Corvo, one that says ‘I love you’. 

Corvo blinks at that, and as usual, his face starts to warm, and he ducks his head away. He hears Jessamine’s soft laugh at that, musical, and Corvo’s face only turns redder. 

“Oh, Corvo.” Jessamine coos. 

Corvo smells the lavender grow stronger, and then Jessamine is embracing him, turning him around and pulling him down, all with the poise of a young white dove. 

Her lips are softer than the clouds, they taste sweeter than honey. 

_She is so beautiful._

Like a butterfly in the air, gossamer wings reflecting a mix of psychedelic colours that shames every other shade in the world. 

A swell in Corvo’s chest breaks free, a warm feeling bubbles up, and his head starts to float up. 

He loves her so much. 

And then a new smell cuts through the silky floral smell, shredding the delicate fragrance. The stench is pungent, sharp, and it is- 

Corvo jerks away. 

Jessamine’s lips are _red_. Her eyes - her beautiful eyes – are cracked, dirtied by streaks of horror, fear. 

A sword sticks out from her abdomen, blood pooling over her clothes. 

A chill rushes down Corvo’s spine, as intense as ignited whale oil, and a rough cry escapes him. He doesn’t even recognise the sound as his, and Corvo tumbles forth, trying to grasp her.

 _No. Please._

“Jess-” Corvo cries out, his arm reaching out. 

Jessamine falls away, a butterfly plucked of its wings, and Corvo drops to the ground, eyes now wild. 

His arms – which were around Jessamine’s body just seconds ago – they are soaked in _red_. 

_Not this again_. 

Corvo starts to tremble, a storm breaking free in his heart with a deafening crack of thunder. 

He looks around, his eyes almost feral- 

The ballroom is red. His arms are _red_. 

Why is _everything_ so red? 

A sharp, stabbing feeling pierces him, straight through his heart, so lightning quick and acute, and Corvo’s breath is sucked out from him, lungs crushed to pulp. All energy melts away, and Corvo feels his knees give way, his body suddenly trapped in a whirlwind of agony. 

Loss. Grief. Pain. 

_She’s dead_. 

The thought feels more painful than a bullet itself, and Corvo starts to pant helplessly. He’s breathless, his legs can’t move, his lungs are searing, why- 

And then from the corner of his eye, he spots a ring. 

The imperial signet ring, with a band much smaller than Corvo’s. Just lying on the ground, motionless. 

He is reaching out for it before he can help it. She is gone too soon, too sudden, and he needs something, _anything_ that can help stop the horrible pain that has his body wrapped in a tight vice, suffocating and purely excruciating. 

He wants i-

A hand snatches the ring away, closed within a pale palm and horridly thin fingers. 

Corvo jerks up. 

No! He can’t- 

A bald man is sneering down on him, eyes cold and callous, draped in a long coat. 

_Hiram Burrows_. 

“Sign the confession, Corvo.” His voice is slippery and wet, like a snake. 

Corvo can’t move, he can’t- 

“You _killed_ her, Corvo.” 

Burrows circles the ring in his palm, tainting the royal adornment with his slimy fingers. He smirks, a cruel lift in his lips, and the precious ring is tossed aside like trash. 

Corvo can only watch the glimmer fade in the distance, his legs too numb to move. 

She’s _dead_. 

His beautiful butterfly is dead.

_She is dead!_

Corvo’s arm still reaches out regardless, trying to will the ring back to him, to feel its cool touch once more, to be reminded of the soft lavender once more. _Jessamine_. 

His fingers grasp around thin air. Corvo can’t feel the bumps of the diamond emblem, can’t feel the small band. Jessamine is _slipping away_ from him. 

He screws his eyes shut as burning tears sneak their way up, the grief sending a particularly excruciating shock through him. It is too much. _Too much_. 

Jessamine is _gone_. 

Corvo’s eyes snap open, and he is now bolted down to a chair. Hands bound in chains. He instantly panics, heaves, chest rising up and down and starts to jerk, but the chains hold. The familiar metallic rattling grates down on Corvo, pointedly reminding him of how _helpless_ he is. How _hopeless_ he is. How he will never stop the _pain_. 

If there is anything Corvo _hates_ more than anything, it is the sensation of being _trapped_. He detests the feeling so much, he hates being restrained, placed under control against his will. Corvo likes being free, like a bird in the sky, to be able to open his wings and fly anywhere he wishes. But being the Royal Protector is different. That role is a responsibility that Corvo _chose_ to take up, and he never felt forced to do the job. 

Him loving Jessamine is something else entirely. 

Their love is _taboo_ , and if anyone finds out, it would be disastrous for both of them, him in particular. That love is the one trap that Corvo _allowed_ himself to get entangled in, the soft promise of comfort and affection too enticing even for him to ignore. He is only human, and his heart _yearns_ to be treasured, to be treated gently, and before Corvo is aware of it, he is trapped in the warm love, even though he should _hate_ that feeling. 

In the past, Corvo remained exceptionally cautious about their love, never allowing Jessamine or himself too much at a single time. Jessamine didn’t like it at first, she often got insecure or unsatisfied about Corvo’s generally apathetic approach to their love. 

She took years to learn the truth behind Corvo’s actions, that Corvo didn’t like feeling trapped, and since then, she stopped trying to force her affection onto him, always waiting for _his_ explicit permission given in soft touches and kisses before coming near. That way Corvo could feel in control, it was the only way he would let her near enough and allow his love for her to shine. 

Jessamine would grow to cherish those short moments, as did Corvo. 

But she got _killed_. _Murdered_. _Betrayed_. 

And Corvo was forced into chains, wings clipped, stuffed into a cage for _six_ months in Coldridge. His _worst fear_ come true. He would have rather subjected himself to endless pain rather than be chained, _trapped_ , rendered helpless, but that was what he was forced through in Coldridge. For _six_ months. 

Six months of being stuck, unable to fly, unable to go _anywhere_.

It was pure _agony_ , and with the grief still fresh in his mind, he felt himself shattering, piece by piece, degrading and rotting away. 

Corvo _knows_ he is dreaming, he _knows_ it, but he still can’t get away from it. He jerks in the chains, but they don’t budge an inch. 

He just wants to break free, he _hates_ being trapped. 

The nauseating metallic stench is now soaked in the air, most of it from his own blood, and Corvo can faintly see the oxidised smears on the floor from the past _sessions_ he had. 

The room is always dark, with one single light source shining straight on him, as though trying to expose all the cracks and tears in his soul. 

A hand reaches out from the shadows, holding a metal stick with a glowing hot tip at the end. 

Corvo can never flinch away. He can never run. He can _never_ escape the pain. 

He is _trapped_. 

A scream is forced out, tearing his throat open, and he thrashes, but the chains hold, they always do, and he can only take whatever they force upon him. 

The hot tip digs further into his vulnerable flesh, blistering and searing. His nerves are set aflame, and they burn, and burn, and _burn_ , but the pain doesn’t stop, and he can’t escape. 

_Please_. It echoes in his mind, but always gets stuck in his throat. He will never beg out loud, but he begs in the safety of his mind, the only place they can’t touch, the only place he’s allowed to have _freedom_. And he begs, begs so much and so desperately that he sounds very far from the Royal Protector he _used to be_. 

But, it is never the physical pain that makes him beg and plead so piteously. 

It is the knowledge that they’re _stealing_ away his kindness, his gentleness, his very identity, slowly hollowing him out and filling him back with hate, suffering - every despicable thing Corvo _hates_ \- that makes him _beg_. It is the knowledge that pieces of him are being stolen away with each strike, each burn, each slice on his flesh that makes him _scream_ in his mind for them to stop. 

He hates it, hates his weakness, hates himself, hates Burrows, hates Campbell, and hates that red-cladded assassin. He wants them all _dead_. He wants to torture all of them in every way possible and _kill_ them. All that hate is too much, _everything_ is too much, and it threatens to drown away the soft lavender Corvo can still recall at the back of his mind, threatens to burn away all those light memories that are so very dear to Corvo. Those are the only things he has left, and they’re being _taken away_ from him.

He hates that he can’t stop it, and that is why he _begs_. 

_Please._

Stop.

The burning tip retreats, as though sensing Corvo’s pleas, and just as the pain dulls away, it is thrust straight back in. 

Corvo screams out.

 _Stop._

He is burnt again, and Corvo angrily blinks away the tears that are forced out from the pain. 

He jerks once more, but he is still _trapped_. The despair that hits him sucks away Jessamine’s beautiful face, Emily’s cheerful voice, chokes away every happy memory Corvo’s so desperately trying to hold onto. 

_Please. Stop…_

The tip digs in further, and Corvo screams yet again. 

_NO!_

And then the pain is gone. 

The chains around his wrists fall away, and the metal stick is gone. 

Everything vanishes. 

Something blankets over Corvo, a thick warmth that wraps around him, soothingly brushing across his hair, his torso, his imaginary burns, every part of him that screams out in agony. 

Some semblance of the horror and panic remains however, and Corvo tries to push back, yell, but the blanket eases in, pressing softly on him, spreading across him like a healing balm.

It is so thick, like trying to wade through honey, but its touch is so gentle, and Corvo doesn’t feel as though he’s _trapped_. 

Corvo makes a trembling whine at the sensation, the comfort too gentle that tears squeeze their way out, spilling over his cheeks. The feeling sinks in further, soothing every hurt on his body, smoothing over the cracks in his soul.

It is…relaxing, and Corvo can’t help but press back, to seek more. 

He yearns for the comfort, the gentle touch, the _relief_. 

The panic starts to subside, and Corvo closes his eyes, his body too exhausted to move, clutching on to the sensation as he fades into the darkness. 

He remembers nothing else. 

When Corvo opens his eyes, he’s on his bed, and he blinks wearily in strange confusion. His limbs feel like lead, and his mind is telling him to go back to sleep. Except- 

It is too bright. Too warm. 

It’s way past dawn, Corvo realises, casting a brief look outside, and he pushes himself up into a half-sitting position. That is very unusual. He usually wakes much earlier than this, he has never slept so much before. 

And he feels…

He feels _good_ , Corvo blinks a few more times in surprise. It’s true, the ache in his back isn’t there, his shoulders aren’t tense, and his chest isn’t overwhelmed with a fresh wave of fear as it usually is when he wakes. 

He’s very relaxed. 

He hasn’t felt like this ever since Jessamine’s death. 

Corvo looks outside yet again. Judging from the intensity of the light, it is probably mid-afternoon. Alarm washes away any remaining fatigue in his body. What..? He slept so much? Corvo looks back down. This has never happened before. 

And why does he feel so well-rested..? 

It is only then does he realise that there is a droning hum near his pillow, quiet, but loud enough to draw his attention. Corvo casts a glance down, and he freezes at the sight, eyes widening.

Nestled in his sheets beside his pillow, there lies a single bone charm, three-pronged and wired together at the centre, with arcane symbols carved into the bone. The artefact is hissing softly, and when Corvo’s finger brushes across it, he immediately knows what it is for. 

_A recovery bone charm_. One to help _healing._

Why- 

Corvo’s muscles seize up and freeze. His breath stops.

And his eyes widen even more. 

There is something else underneath the bone charm, surrounded by a nest of metal chain. 

His heart nearly stops when he gently eases the bone charm away. 

A familiar diamond emblem stares back. The imperial signet ring. One Corvo stares at all the time in Dunwall when he wears it. 

Corvo immediately looks to examine the band. Smaller, tighter than Corvo’s own. 

He stares at it in disbelief for a few seconds, uncertain, before it finally hits him. 

_It is Jessamine’s ring_. 

Corvo’s heart swells, and he slowly picks the precious thing up, feeling its coolness against his warm skin. The touch of it, the exact diameter, the size. It rolls around Corvo’s fingers with familiarity. 

It’s real. 

It’s truly _hers_. 

He holds it to his chest for a few seconds, thumb brushing across the emblem, just treasuring the way it feels in his hand. The exact shape, the size, the coolness, the edges. Everything is where it should be. Everything is _exactly_ how he had memorised. The swell in Corvo’s chest loosens, releasing a warm gush of relief and joy. 

The chain…It’s not the same chain as the one Corvo had. It’s evidently new, polished and silver. The metal links are also smaller, thinner, but Corvo doesn’t mind it. 

He has the ring back, and he doesn’t care about the different feel of the chain against his neck. The pressure of the ring on his neck is the same, and that is all that matters. 

When he puts on his clothes, Corvo’s wondering about something entirely different. 

He’s not stubborn enough to deny the truth, and he _knows_. 

_Daud_ is the only one who could have obtained such a specific bone charm and placed it beside Corvo while he was sleeping. And it seems, that _Daud_ found the ring, and bought a new chain to replace the one he broke. 

An…apology, perhaps? 

The thought is disconcerting, and Corvo narrows his eyes, furious again. He still remembers exactly what Daud said, what he called _Emily_. And not to forget that he’s the one that killed Jessamine, no matter how much he regrets it. 

But then Corvo thinks of Kent’s story. He only asked because he couldn’t understand why the kind-hearted physician would ever follow such a despicable, cruel assassin, of all people. The red-haired boy probably didn’t know that his eyes were filled with tears when he spoke of Daud giving him the key. Corvo admits that he doesn’t know Daud as a person, and listening to Kent’s story, he can see why Kent respects Daud so much, and why he’s so loyal. And for that short moment, Daud is more _human_ than cold-blooded assassin to Corvo. 

He brings a hand to his chest right then, just to feel the ring there, keeps it there for a few seconds, before putting on his coat and opening the door. 

When he’s at near the second floor, he hears a sharp hiss of pain from the first floor, before a firm “stay still”. He recognises both voices. It is Daud and Kent, but the sounds belonging to each man sounds like they’ve been reversed. It is _Daud_ that made that sound of pain, while _Kent_ – the timid whaler – is the one that apparently told him off. 

“I told you not to go out and strain yourself and look what happens.” 

It is the first time Corvo has heard Kent have a tone other than a fluttery, quiet stutter, and he sounds… _exasperated_ , which is surprising. 

Daud grumbles something in return. 

“That’s not a good excuse! You did something inexcusable yesterday morning, which is bad enough, and then when you came back drenched in sewage, I didn’t say anything. Fixed you up without a word! _And then what happens next?_ You go out and ruin everything _again_!!” 

Corvo reaches the second floor, and he can see a very upset Kent standing over Daud, who’s sitting down, shirtless, covered in bandages. Kent’s eyebrows are in a furrow, and chances are, he’s the type of person not to get angry easily, but when he does, he’s completely unstoppable, growing stronger and stronger until he steamrolls over everything in his path. Corvo is admittedly like him in that aspect. 

“I told you to keep still!!” Kent basically shrills, and Daud groans something in return. 

Corvo continues his way down the stairs. 

The two men in question completely freeze when Corvo appears. Kent’s anger disappears instantly. His ferocious look vanishes, the timid, nervous expression that Corvo knows all too well coming back to reclaim his face. His red hair is splayed across his face, and his hands are poised over a large open gash on Daud’s arm. 

There is a moment of stunned silence. 

“Uh…G-Good afternoon Lord At-Attano. Do you want something to eat?” Kent asks, an uncertain smile lighting up his face. 

“I’m fine.” Corvo replies. 

And then he locks gazes with Daud. Daud’s eyes, in the light of the afternoon sun, look almost blue-grey, but it still reminds Corvo of Emily screaming, Jessamine’s blood, and a twinge of hatred sparks up in Corvo. He quells it back down instantly, looks away. He is reminded of the bone charm, Jessamine’s ring (which he can feel pressed to his chest), and he pointedly makes his way towards the door without looking back. 

He can’t deal with Daud right now, because it is clear that he doesn’t know what to think about the man. What Daud did last morning was unforgivable, and it took _everything_ from Corvo not to kill him right then and there, running off instead, escaping, just to prevent himself from doing the deed. 

Corvo is still furious with him. He knows that Daud only did it to provoke him, but that doesn’t make the act any less cruel or outrageous. He called Emily a _bastard child_! Corvo clenches his fists at the thought. 

But then last night… 

Daud must have went through the sewers as Corvo had done, looking for the tiny ring (the same one that Daud himself threw away). And judging from Kent’s anger, Daud must have spent hours looking for it drenched in sewage, all while with the numerous gashes on his body. 

Corvo doesn’t know what to think. 

That he should thank him? Why should Corvo thank him when it was _Daud_ who threw it away? Or maybe he should yell at him, hit him, bash him up? But Corvo can’t possibly do that when he _knows_ that Daud found the ring and returned it to him, can he? 

Should Kent’s story change his opinion of Daud? When Kent told Corvo his story, he didn’t hide anything. He isn’t a blind, loyal follower that has nothing but praise for his master. Kent’s loyalty is _earned_. Kent didn’t hide the fact that he saw Daud as a monster once, that he _hated_ Daud at some point. Kent didn’t lie to him at all. 

And if he wasn’t lying, and Daud indeed _did_ all those things, then Daud has capacity to care, has a soft human side to him that is as of yet, unknown to Corvo. 

But Kent is _Kent_. And Corvo is _Corvo_. Daud didn’t kill Kent’s lover, didn’t kidnap his child, but he did those things to _Corvo_. 

Kent’s experience with Daud alone simply cannot define _Corvo’s_ experience with Daud. It just wouldn’t be _fair_. 

Corvo has to make that judgment himself, not based on anyone else’s opinion. _That_ …would be fair. 

But some stubborn, hating part of Corvo rejects that idea fervently. His opinion cannot change. Daud is a horrible person. He kills for money, he killed _Jessamine_ , took his daughter, supported Burrows, called Emily a _bastard child_ , threw away _Jessamine’s ring!_. He- _No_. 

Corvo must be _fair_. He must be unbiased. He can’t let his emotions get in the way again. That is what he swore a year ago, wasn’t it? Emily doesn’t need a bitter, resentful, selfish role model. She can look to Burrows if she wanted to learn such a thing. She needs Corvo to be gracious, objective, patient, _honourable_. 

Corvo takes a deep breath, and lets it out, the resentment going along with it. 

What is the most _fair_ thing to do here? 

Daud has already killed Jessamine, nothing can change that. _Nothing_ can bring her back. The harm is already done, and to hold Daud to a mistake that _can’t_ be fixed is pointless. The best outcome in such a situation would be for Daud have learnt something from it, to show change, to have altered his ways. Even if he _says_ he regret it very deeply, if he doesn’t _show_ it, it is meaningless. 

Daud had threatened Corvo when they first met, and Corvo attacked him in return. That is proof that he hasn’t learnt anything. Why attack somebody who spared your life? Showed you mercy? But Daud didn’t threaten him after that. So could that be considered as a lesson learnt? 

And now judging Daud’s behaviour yesterday morning, Corvo is inclined to believe that Daud really hasn’t changed, and thus, shouldn’t be forgiven. And _yet_ , what Daud did in the night, finding Corvo’s ring despite being injured, giving him that…bone charm. It was a sincere act, and most definitely an apology, Corvo won’t deny that. 

Is that enough to earn him another chance? How can Corvo measure somebody’s ability to change? Even by logically dismantling all of Daud’s actions, it will not be sufficient to decide anything. 

Corvo honestly doesn’t care about the physical actions Daud does. He can kill Jessamine, throw away her ring despite knowing how much Corvo cares about it, call Emily a bastard child, or give Corvo a bone charm, but those are just _actions_. Corvo is more interested in _why_ he did those things, his intentions, his reasoning, his motivations. That is more important than the act itself. 

But there is much that Corvo doesn’t know about him. At best, he can only _guess_ Daud’s intentions, not determine them. 

Besides that, Corvo’s interactions with Daud only make up a minute part of Daud’s life, so how can Corvo make a decision about Daud when he only knows a small fraction of the ex-assassin? Is this where Kent’s experience with Daud should come in? And if he takes that into account, can he still be _fair_? 

In the end, it all boils down to the same question: can Daud _even_ change? Can he become a better man after having lived his whole life in the blood business? 

The answers don’t come easily, and Corvo continues to mull over the thought, all the way back to the inn. Corvo actually eats more than half of dinner before he feels nauseous later in the evening, and Kent looks delighted at that. 

After dinner, Daud is sitting in one of the couches, a thick book in hand. He looks engrossed, but Corvo can see his eyes discretely tracking Corvo in regular intervals. 

Corvo carries the cat into his arms when she comes over, and the cat purrs softly, delighted at the attention, while Corvo pets her gently. Daud’s eyes visibly narrow when Corvo picks up the cat, but Corvo pays him no attention, and goes upstairs. 

Shortly after that, Corvo can hear a ruckus downstairs, shouts and guffaws barely muffled by the thin walls. He’s not unused to it, nor does he mind it. The whalers can do what they please. They always make a lot of noise after dinner anyway, especially after Corvo goes back to his room. 

Corvo always wonders what they are doing. 

Nothing violent, probably. The shouts are always joyful, and Corvo never actually goes down to interrupt them because he knows his presence will erase all that joy. 

But he’s curious, certainly. And he’s in quite a good mood (probably because of his good sleep), and Corvo sets the cat down outside, sneaks his way back down. 

The whalers, about ten of them, are surrounded by bottles of whiskey. A group has a deck of cards and coins laid out on a wooden table, and none of them notice Corvo, faces lightly flushed, minds made inattentive by alcohol. (Daud notices him immediately of course, but pretends not to). 

“Oh hey, who wants to play?” Devon asks. 

A few brothers shake their heads, downing whiskey. 

“Hey, Kent, play with us.” Feodor cheerily beckons. 

The red-haired physician stops, starts to flush very hard, before scrambling off with a muttered excuse. 

“Aw, I told you we shouldn’t have made him ask that Serkonan girl out when he lost last time.” Feodor grumbles. 

Devon sighs. 

“I’ll play.” The rough voice is accompanied by the sound of a book slamming shut. 

Feodor starts to whine. 

“Oh by the Outsider, I don’t have enough coin for _him_.”

“What? Haven’t recovered from the last time he played?” Devon smirks. 

“ _You_ couldn’t drink whiskey for a _week_ because of him too.” Feodor defends. 

“Fuck you.” Devon scowls. 

“We’re still one player short.” Feodor groans, waving his half-empty whiskey bottle like a drunkard. “Curse Thomas for being away today.” 

Corvo looks down at them once more, watching them with strange fascination. They all look… _happy_ , drinking together and bickering with each other like siblings. 

They look…like a family. 

Corvo is suddenly reminded of the nights he’d spent seated in front of a fireplace beside Jessamine, with Emily crouched on the floor, grasping a crayon with a stupidly childish grin on her face. 

It is hard to believe they all used to be assassins for hire. 

Corvo would expect Daud to absolutely detest the noise, but looking at the man now, he doesn’t seem to mind it. 

Does this happen every night? This happy gathering together to play cards, talk, and drink whiskey? The very sight makes a decision cement in Corvo’s mind, the incessant questions from the afternoon fleeing and scuttling away. 

“Zachary?” Devon asks. 

One of the whalers shakes his head. 

“I’ll play.” 

The moment Corvo says that, the whole room freezes, laughter vanishing. Even Daud freezes, but it is only at Corvo’s sudden offer to play, rather than at his presence. Corvo steps down, and goes over to seat opposite Daud, ignoring the shocked glances from everyone else. 

“O-kay.” Feodor drags out uncertainly. 

He pulls out his own coins and pile them up on the table, before staring up, right into those unshakeable grey eyes. 

He will give Daud yet another chance. _Try_ to forgive him…for both of their sakes.


	8. The Difference between Them

Daud doesn’t expect this from Corvo yet again. It is only yesterday that Corvo almost killed him, and today he decides to play _cards_ with him. 

Daud keeps staring at him as the Royal Protector moves over to occupy the seat opposite him. He wanted to _kill_ Daud just yesterday morning, and now he wants to play _cards_. Surely there’s something very wrong here. 

Daud starts to wonder if Corvo is actually a _sane_ man. Maybe Coldridge did break him after all, and he has turned into a man devoid of logical thinking. Maybe that’s why he keeps making all these absurd decisions that never cease to surprise Daud. 

The other whalers look on nervously, either pretending to be occupied in their own activities or watching Corvo avidly with wide eyes.

Feodor is extremely nervous now. Daud can almost feel him shaking from here, and the poor whaler looks ready to just run off and never come back. Feodor isn’t usually timid, Kent fulfils that role fine by himself, except that Daud hasn’t forgotten that Feodor almost died by Corvo’s hand once, back when Daud…did the deed. 

Feodor didn’t expect Corvo to have such fast reflexes when he had the upper hand armed with supernatural powers, and he paid for that error dearly, taken down by a well-aimed shot to the torso. Daud also hasn’t forgotten how distraught Kent had been when they brought Feodor back, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget the sheer distress on the physician’s face for the rest of his life. 

Devon appears unconcerned, but the tremor in his hand betrays his emotions. Devon was also there when Daud did the deed. He had been the one to grab Emily away (he suffered a deep bite in the forearm because of that), and chances are, he still feels the regret of kidnapping the young girl away. 

Daud returns his attention back to Corvo, who’s still busy arranging his gleaming coins in a perfect pile. His hair under the yellow light from the numerous lamps and candles in the inn glimmers gold, strands soft against his face. 

Just then, the damned animal – the cat – comes prancing down the stairs, hopping onto Corvo’s lap in a single well-placed jump. Daud frowns at it, and his frown deepens when Corvo starts to idly stroke the stupid creature in soft motions, from the head to its tail. Its injuries are clearly healing, and that has motivated it to be bolder, strutting around the inn like it owns the place and leaving cat fur all over (which annoys Daud to no end). It follows Kent to the clinic on some days and stays at the inn on other days, taken care of by some of the more charitable whalers. Traitors, all of them, taking care of the dratted animal. 

They start with poker (Daud’s favourite game). 

Daud enjoys the tension in poker, the risk, the all-or-nothing nature in the game. He enjoys having to analyse each player’s body language and actions to predict the game flow. 

But what he likes most is when he pulls off a bluff. Manipulating and outsmarting them is something Daud secretly takes pride in, and he likes knowing that he can read them and prod them towards his trap each time. 

As the rounds progress, Corvo shows himself to be extremely good at poker, catching on to Daud’s bluffs and pulling off his own bluffs with incredible expertise. He also has incredible luck and manages to pull off a “Royal Dunwall” hand once, Daud loses a hefty amount of coin because of that. 

As the rounds pass, it eventually becomes a competition between Corvo and Daud rather than between the four of them. Daud wins a round, Corvo wins another, and both their piles of money remain mostly the same. 

The fourth game starts, and before the cards can be distributed, the cat lets out a piercing meow, clambering up to Corvo’s right shoulder. It lazily sits there, tail draped over Corvo’s other shoulder, head pressed into Corvo’s hair. Corvo pays it absolutely no attention, completely unconcerned that there’s a furry animal using his shoulder as a perch. The cat’s tail flicks across Corvo’s cheek once. 

Corvo then takes one look at his cards and the tip of his lips barely dip, before settling back to a neutral position. Daud narrows his eyes at the movement. That would suggest that Corvo has a set of terrible cards, a bad hand. 

But…

Corvo _might_ be faking it, trying to trick Daud, bluff him. 

So he must have a good set of cards then, and is trying to lull Daud into a false sense of security. 

Well, that won’t work. He won’t fall for such an obvious ploy. 

Or…maybe Daud is reading a little too much into it, and Corvo genuinely has bad cards. 

Which is it? 

He considers Corvo once more. The cat is still balanced on his shoulder, tail occasionally brushing across Corvo’s face. Corvo is flipping a coin up and down in one hand, all while the cat tries to bat it out from the air with its paw. He looks absolutely ridiculous like that, Daud thinks, the Royal Protector being a _plaything_ for a damned _cat_. 

Corvo raises the bet on his turn, and Daud pauses to think it through again. Either Corvo’s trying to go for an elaborate risky bluff, or he has a good hand, and is confident of winning.

The cat finally manages to smack the offending coin down, and it drops to the ground with a clang. Corvo bends over to pick it up without complaint, while the cat, now having fulfilled its destructive quota for the day, drops back down onto Corvo’s lap and curls in, very satisfied. 

Corvo’s hand rests on the cat once more, and then he looks up straight at Daud. His brown eyes are alert, sharp, his face still stoic as ever, making it very hard for Daud to catch any kind of emotion from the man. 

Daud considers his gaze, stares at the cards laid face down in front of Corvo, and back at Corvo. Corvo’s gaze remains ever so steady on him, blinking slowly, with not even a twitch of his facial muscles to give away anything. 

Daud thinks about it for a long minute…and then leans out, pushing a pile of coin to the middle with a careful nudge from his thumb. 

About an hour later, Daud wants to kick every whaler out of the inn to rot in the streets. Rowdy, traitorous, _annoying_. The whole lot of them. 

He fucking _lost_ to Corvo. Got outsmarted in his own game, and became Corvo’s _plaything_ for the evening. 

It is absolutely _humiliating_ , because Daud is very used to being the one in control of the game, being the one to manipulate everyone else as he pleases. 

Corvo had known that – of course he did – and he intentionally let Daud fall into his trap like he’s some damn novice player.

The man had been obviously very smug about it, and in the next (and final) round, he put in all the coin he got from Daud into the bidding pool. 

It was an odd move, reckless, dangerous.

Daud had bad cards, unfortunately, and so did Devon (the man was never really that good at hiding). He had no idea what kind of cards Corvo had, but he knew that Feodor had a good hand. The blond whaler was good at faking, but not good enough, and Daud could always catch the subtle hints and expressions that told him so. 

To win, he would have to pull off a bluff, to trick Feodor into folding his cards and giving up. And considering that Daud was still very sour about the previous defeat, he was _exceptionally_ determined to win the round and get some of his pride back. 

Until _Corvo_ came into play. 

The infuriating man did everything in the round to let Feodor be crowned the victor, and Daud, the _loser_. 

And _it fucking worked_.

Feodor won with a “Captain’s Quarters” hand, taking away much of _Daud’s_ coin along with whatever remained of Daud’s pride. 

Feodor had looked so horrified that he won instead of jubilant, like he thought Corvo would beat him up later for it, still completely unaware that he’d been _made_ to win. 

Feodor noticed Daud’s worsening mood, and when he tried to offer to return the coin to Daud, Corvo broke in. 

“Don’t bother. He won’t accept it.” 

Feodor had jumped, and he stammered something along the lines of “well, what am I going to do with this?” 

“Why not buy some whiskey?” Came Corvo’s response, and the man disappeared back upstairs, cat trotting behind dutifully. 

Now recalling that, and seeing the new crate of whiskey Feodor brought back on the table, Daud grimaces internally. 

He is a _fool_. Corvo had played him so spectacularly that Daud can’t decide if he feels more angry at himself or angry at Corvo. 

His damn whalers are rejoicing at the prospect of _even more_ alcohol, and they are quite drunk by the time Thomas returns to the inn. 

Thomas frowns at the sight of the drunken whalers, confused for a second. 

“Wait, why’s there so much whiskey?” 

Kent is the only one to reply Thomas, the rest too rowdy and loud to have even heard the question. Kent is one of the few whalers who is well aware of their personal limits when it comes to liquor, and he drinks in moderation, so he’s always the one remaining lucid and alert when it comes to their game nights. 

“It was Feodor. He won poker.” Kent sheepishly says. 

Feodor staggers by, perking up at the sound of his name. 

“Oh yes, I won. I _won_!” Feodor laughs, clearly drunk and too delirious to function. 

“We should ask Lord Attano to play more often. I’ve never seen Daud so riled in _years_!” Feodor adds flippantly, too drunk to have restraint or care about the repercussions. 

Thomas and Kent look at Daud when Feodor says that, and Daud resents the sympathetic smiles they are giving him. 

He has never felt so tempted to bash down a whole wall using somebody’s head alone (Preferably Feodor’s).

\----------

Breakfast after that night has Daud eating at the table each morning.

Corvo actually pauses for a short second when he sees Daud there in the first morning, but he quickly returns back to normal, thanking Kent when he brings the tray out as usual, resuming his daily routine as though completely forgetting the time where he almost killed Daud. 

Corvo eats slightly more now, and from Kent's short smile every time he collects his plates, the physician is happy as well.

Ever since Daud’s – humiliating – defeat, Feodor and Devon started to make an effort to more friendly towards Corvo, and sometimes, to ask Corvo to join them for their nightly game sessions. Corvo never ignores their attempts at conversation, but he usually declines politely when it comes to joining them at night, and Daud thinks it’s probably because Corvo knows the whalers don’t completely relax in his presence. 

Thomas and Kent also make it a point to scent his pillows and sheets with a little lavender each night (they refuse to let Feodor near the bottles). 

So it doesn’t take long for Daud to realise that it has become a mission for the whalers to help Corvo relax as much as possible in his time at the inn. 

Their attempts to help Corvo relax, of course, do not go unnoticed by the man himself. Corvo is well aware of their attempts to help him, and he feigns ignorance, graciously accepting whatever the whalers try. He’s always so damn considerate that it becomes mildly infuriating to Daud.

There is also a rather _strange_ truce between Daud and Corvo. If Daud doesn’t do anything to upset him, Corvo will remain neutral to him. Daud certainly doesn’t deserve such mercy, and he knows that if he provokes Corvo again, it won’t end well for him at all, so he stays his hand, not wanting a repeat of _that incident_ again. 

His…apology…has been accepted it seems, which is bizarre in itself, and Daud recognises that he’s been given yet another chance. A _last_ chance. 

Daud can’t afford to lose his temper in front of Corvo again. 

After having been lectured by Kent - the man finally exploded at him that one afternoon – Daud realised something important. 

He’s never really considered how his actions would impact his whalers. He had been so obsessed with wanting to be punished that day that he forgot his whalers entirely, he never considered them at all. The thought that they would be _hurt_ if Daud got killed never even crossed his mind, not until Kent yelled at him, all while angrily tying up the bandages which Daud ruined again. 

The realisation is a strange one. Daud likes his whalers’ company, he likes being around them, even if he won’t admit it. But he’d never considered their opinion of him to be anything more than ‘master’. He always thought they stuck with him out of obligation, not because of…respect. Loyalty. He never knew they have formed some _attachment_ to him at all.

Maybe he never saw it, or never _wanted to_. 

The thought that his whalers would be _hurt_ because of his own selfish actions never even occurred to him, not until Kent – the most cool-tempered whaler of them all – actually _yelled_ at him. 

Selfish, arrogant, annoying, infuriating…Kent had shouted all those things at him, but what really affected Daud the most was when Kent snapped, 

“Do you even know what you do to _us_ when you try and get yourself _killed_ like that?!” 

Daud felt like he’d been gutted when Kent said that, and he realised exactly how _selfish_ , how _arrogant_ , how _infuriating_ he had been. He never even thought about it, he never knew that what he tried to do that morning actually hurt his whalers _the most_. He didn’t even _care_. 

Daud had felt terrible after knowing that, and when he apologised to Kent, the physician immediately stopped shouting at him, picking up on the Daud’s empty, defeated tone, and just bandaged the rest of his wounds in silence, smiling a little afterwards to indicate his forgiveness.

And now knowing that, Daud knows he _can’t_ lose his temper in front of Corvo again. 

He can’t afford to upset the Royal Protector _yet again_ , not when his whalers were at stake, not when he knows what he had done to them when he tried to provoke Corvo into delivering his retribution. 

But even with that in mind, his confusion at the man hasn’t diminished one bit. Corvo still remains a mystery, and for the next few days, Daud continues to follow him from the rooftops, more curious than angry now. Corvo always lets him do as he pleases, so Daud hasn’t felt inclined to stop. 

He wants to know why Corvo can have such high self-control, how he can be so forgiving. Daud simply can't understand. There is no one that can endure what Corvo has endured, and _not_ want revenge. He knows almost every detail of his past - by the Void - he probably contributed to almost all of his traumatic memories. 

With all that hefty history in mind, Corvo _shouldn't_ be this man Daud sees in front of him. He should be more hating, more upset, more _everything_ , but against all odds, against whatever laws that define the Void itself, Corvo has emerged from torture and grief as a more forgiving person, more gentle even. 

Daud knows he must be missing something crucial about Corvo, and he _has_ to know, and so he continues to follow him. 

Of course, _asking_ the man himself is always an option, but Daud doesn't do it. Out of pride perhaps, or maybe respect. Corvo probably doesn't want to speak to him. Their odd truce surely doesn't go as far as conversation, so Daud has never uttered a word to him; it goes both ways.

Corvo doesn't do anything unusual. He still looks at toys (he hasn't purchased any), he still gives street urchins food, and he still occasionally drinks the same brand of whiskey that Daud likes. He buys a book for one of the street urchins, but the things he do are nothing that can shed new insight into the Royal Protector, and it still frustrates Daud, but he forces himself to be satisfied with this.

It is now the eleventh day, three days before Corvo returns back to Dunwall.

Daud has tired out of using the rooftops to follow Corvo, his body fatigued from excessive use of magic, so he follows Corvo on the ground this time, a careful distance placed between them.

It is almost lunch time, and Daud is tempted to buy a sandwich or some pie to eat, but he doesn't want to let Corvo out of his sight, so he ignores the protesting rumbles, stubbornly tailing the bodyguard.

Corvo pauses about an hour later, heading near a stall for food.

Corvo comes to this particular stall quite often, about four times since Daud started following him, and he nearly always buys a sausage sandwich. 

In fact, Daud suddenly realises, Corvo probably likes sausages. 

Every time Kent has some form of sausage for breakfast or dinner, Corvo always finishes them first. He may have claimed to Kent not to have a preference, but it is very clear to Daud (who spends an abnormal time just following him throughout the day), that Corvo does indeed favour certain kinds of food, just like he favours one particular brand of whiskey.

Daud's stomach lets out an indignant grumble at the thought of juicy, salty sausages, drawing him out from his quiet musing.

True enough, Corvo buys a sausage sandwich, and Daud celebrates the small victory of getting a prediction right with a grunt.

He has been tailing Corvo for days after all, he knows what kind of routine Corvo has, and this is not out of ordinary.

Corvo turns around, more visible to Daud's view, and Daud just stops, stares.

Wait. Why did Corvo buy _two_? He can't even finish one.

Then Corvo's eyes meet his, and Daud can feel their intensity even from the distance.

What?

Corvo looks away, goes to the sidewalk, settles one wrapped sandwich down, another in his hands, and looks at Daud again.

It turns out Daud has to retract his celebratory grunt. Corvo just did something out of his predictions again.

Daud is surprised by him _yet again_.

It is terribly irksome, but not so much as shocking each time it happens.

Corvo is still looking at him, his eyes unwavering, never falling off Daud's. He tilts his head slightly to the side, and Daud's mind goes blank.

What the fuck?

The action Corvo just did - even Daud can't misinterpret the intention.

But _why_ , that is the question.

Corvo's gaze continues to watch him with that - _expectant_ \- expression, and Daud just stares.

What the fuck??

Why-

Daud keeps studying Corvo. There must be a hidden agenda somewhere. Maybe he missed a particular glint in his eyes, a small scowl, or something. Daud just wants to see _something, anything_ …that will suggest that Corvo is not legitimately _inviting_ him to fucking lunch.

Corvo's eyes move away from Daud, and he starts to eat, paying Daud no attention, completely oblivious to how dumbstruck Daud is right now.

And Daud can only keep staring.

It takes him a few minutes to actually approach the man, all while watching him carefully for any sign of aggression.

There isn't.

He's much closer to Corvo now, much nearer than any instance Daud has been in Corvo's peripheral vision (excluding the time he was choked out…and also excluding the time Corvo threw him through a window).

Corvo doesn't face Daud when he comes by, but Daud knows that he's watching him carefully through the corner of his eye.

The sandwich is still warm, and the scent of cooked sausages stirs his appetite. Daud settles down a fair distance from Corvo, starts to eat.

The…lunch…isn't amiable by any means; they don't speak to each other at all.

Corvo gets through about three-quarters of his sandwich (he usually eats about half) before he stops, wrapping the remainder back up.

Daud expects him to stand up and walk off, but Corvo remains sitting, watching the throng of people walk past. He's paying little attention to what Daud is doing, and then suddenly, he stiffens up.

Daud follows his gaze and-

There is a couple walking by, all smiles and laughter. A small child is wedged between them, a young girl in a yellow dress.

Corvo looks away quickly, his expression remaining neutral. It is too easy to guess what Corvo's thinking, and Daud has to look away as well, an insistent throb starting to burn in his bones.

After a long minute, Corvo suddenly speaks.

"The bone charm…"

Daud intentionally looks away, focusing on his sandwich. He can feel Corvo's gaze on him, not burning, but…soft. It is an odd sensation, and Daud doesn't want to look at him.

Daud waits, chews the mouthful of bread and sausages in the meantime, and when it's clear that Corvo isn't going to say anything else, he swallows it down.

"Consider it a gift." He says, still looking away.

The bone charm Daud had left by Corvo's pillow is a queer thing. It _heals_ , one of few artefacts that don't actually harm. It aids recovery, recovery of a very specific kind of hurt: emotional hurt. 

Bone charms seem to take their power from the intent they were carved with, and Daud suspects that that particular one was carved with the intent to heal heartbreak, as he'd found it years ago in the dead hands of a young man who owns a diary that has the name "Janet" crossed out in nearly every line. 

Bone charms seem to have their own will, or something similar, perhaps due to their connection with the Void. And like all bone charms, it calls out to those susceptible to its effects, and that particular one seems to seek out damaged people, those who have been deeply hurt, who'd been abused, mistreated, kidnapped or raped. It attracts those sort of traumatised minds. (Most, if not all of his whalers were drawn to the bone charm when they first joined.)

When Daud first found it many decades ago, long before he was even marked, the hissing was incessant, unbearable, just begging to be used. When he finally yielded to its demands, lulled by the other-worldly noises, he fell deeply asleep and woke up the next day feeling… _good_ in fact. His thoughts seemed to have altered, and he felt much stronger, more energised. The bone charm also seemed quieter, and continuing to use it led to diminishing hissing sounds, as Daud's own thoughts become rewired, until the memories of being abducted were hardly on his mind anymore.

The hissing was roaring after he killed Jessamine, but he didn't use it, knowing he still had Delilah to worry about.

But as sleepless nights dragged on, Daud eventually gave in, so desperate for _some_ rest. Each morning he woke after using it though, he usually ended up hurling it to a far corner in rage, feeling so annoyed at feeling so fucking _good_ while the city rotted away outside his bedroom. He detested his lack of restraint, and he always tried to throw it away, destroy it, but somehow…he could never do it. He ended up leaving it buried under his pile of clothes somewhere deep within the chest by his bed to muffle its noises, although he could always hear it faintly whispering through the night, always there, always tempting. Its sounds were _too_ alluring, and Daud didn't deserve its kindness, he couldn't accept any of its gentle power.

He had _hated_ the dratted thing.

When he came in Corvo’s bedroom late at night, he instantly recognised that same suffering on the man’s face. 

Daud was drenched in sewage, body stinging with pain. His bandages were all either torn or fallen off, and adding to the already numerous gashes and cuts were river krust burns. Even making it back to the inn was a struggle, but he made it nonetheless, all while thinking of the time Corvo escaped Coldridge with a bruised body from excessive torture.

All that fucking trouble for his damn ring. He wanted to curse Corvo's attachment to the empress, curse the bodyguard's sentimentality, but mostly, curse himself for doing such a cruel thing in the first place. Daud had spent _hours_ searching for it. He was undeniably exhausted, hurt all over, but whatever fragment of irritation completely burnt away when he entered through Corvo's window.

Sweat was plastered all over Corvo's face, eyebrows knitted into an expression of deep agony. Corvo's face was twitching, eyes screwed shut. Corvo didn't have the usual stoic mask on, that was stripped away by whatever bloody images were being conjured by his tortured mind. He was tossing and turning, desperate to escape the illusions. He had never looked so vulnerable, so in pain, so terribly _exhausted_.

Daud just froze at the window ledge, pain in his body overtaken by the terrible guilt oozing out from his bones, constricting around his throat.

Daud had placed the ring (with the new chain), by his pillow, and when he was about to leave, the Royal Protector twisted back again, a quiet whimper escaping him. 

He would never allow such a sound to be heard normally.

Daud couldn't even begin to imagine what plagued Corvo.

When Corvo shifted again, Daud's mind was made up. He returned back to the room a minute later with that bone charm, and paused at the window once more.

Daud was completely numb to the pain from the wounds then, he couldn't even smell the sour stench of sewage emanating from his body as he watched Corvo held captive by his own mind. Corvo twisted back that very second with a soft cry, and Daud's guilt greedily swallowed the sound, tightening its grip in Daud's body, growing thorns that pierced every part of his body.

 _You did this_.

The thought, usually brutally drowned out by Daud, finally squirmed its way out, and the devouring guilt latched on to it, starting to consume him from the inside. 

It was that exact moment he realised the true extent of how much he’d hurt Corvo, how much he’d made him _suffer_. Everything that he did collapsed back on him: Jessamine, the plague, the kidnappings he didn’t want to do, taunting Corvo, getting thrown through the glass panel. The magnitude of all that just dropped down on him, his bones trembling under that immense pressure. 

But still, Daud watched. Until the thought "you did this" was engraved into his mind, playing on repeat, and Daud could feel nothing but the horrible, excruciating void-like sensation slowly corroding his body away. 

Corvo whimpered again, a sound so despairing and sorrowful that Daud turned away, shutting his eyes.

It was only then did he pull out the bone charm from his pouch, settling it down on top of Corvo's ring beside the pillow.

Within minutes, Corvo's struggles completely subsided, a more relaxed expression settling upon his face. His chest started to rise and fall at a slower pace, and the exhausted man finally…looked at peace.

Remembering that now, Daud starts to study his half-eaten sandwich, eyes taking in the grease on the sausage, the bouncy look to the bread. He can't look Corvo in the eye right now. Not when the memory of Corvo's pained face is still floating at the top of his mind, when the guilt is still sunk deep within his bones, resonating so strongly under his skin. 

Daud doesn't even realise he's been staring at his sandwich for an odd amount of time, until Corvo breaks his train of thought.

"Do you always teach those kids how to pickpocket?"

Corvo's _actually_ talking to him. He's _actually_ speaking to Daud, and it's an honest question, with no vitriol whatsoever.

"Sometimes." Daud replies, taking a bite from his sandwich. It is cold already.

"It's not a sustainable lifestyle."

"Neither is feeding them." Daud feels the need to counter.

There is a silence.

Corvo's not wrong really, but street urchins rarely have a choice. Daud knows enough about that life from his own whalers. Street urchins were usually orphans, with nobody to take care of them. And nobody would hire them for work either, so a life of thievery usually became the best option when driven to desperation, or the life as a gang member, a mercenary, an _assassin_.

But what Corvo says next takes Daud by surprise.

"Ralph is very good with his hands. He’s very nimble, and he enjoys taking apart broken clocks he finds around just to put them back together. He’s also selfless, always mends his friends clothes instead of his when he finds scraps of cloth and thread. He’s also resourceful, curious, observant. His friend, Eli, is quick on his feet. He’s the fastest among them, knows the streets and alleys the best, and he has the skill to evade and lose pursuers if needed. He’s agile, has fast reflexes. And the two sisters…Lily is very inquisitive, she tries to teach herself to read from the newspapers thrown out every day, but there’s a limit as to how much she can learn from that. Her sister, Fiona, is the same. They spend a lot of their time in rubbish dumps collecting any scraps of newspapers or books they can find, get their fingers cut and scraped in the process. And there’s Kev, hardworking and loyal, he’s always there to help out his friends whenever they need it. He’s hardy too, and he’s always the one to stand up for his friends in street brawls, even if it means he come away bruised and injured. They all hate being thieves, did you know that?"

A reply doesn't come to Daud, a rarity for him, and he stops, mind blank. So many things go through his mind in that moment. What Corvo said is brief, just a summary of each child, but Daud has no doubt that Corvo knows a great deal about each of them, all their quirks and personalities. 

How does Corvo know that? _Why_ does he know all that? Why does he know that much about each child when he only spends barely _minutes_ each day talking to them? 

And more importantly, why does he know so much more than Daud, when _Daud_ is the one that has been sporadically teaching them over the past _year_? 

A chill rushes down Daud’s spine. 

Daud thought he was feeding the children out of kindness, pity, like the good-hearted man Daud assumed Corvo was. 

But it turns out he has only scratched the bare surface of Corvo's actions, dismissed them as shallow, took his actions at face value. 

He never even suspected a deeper intention. _He has underestimated Corvo._

Corvo obviously _knows_ that feeding them is only a temporary solution. And he doesn't feed them out of pity. He feeds them with purpose, to get to know them, understand them, find out what works for each child, and then formulate a feasible, honest future for each and every one of them. He’s been trying to guide them down a better path - an honest path - one that is catered to each of them.

Daud has frankly never even considered that possibility. He only taught them to pickpocket out of sympathy, and honestly, out of boredom. He didn’t expect anything from them, and he didn’t even _try_ to get to know each child so personally. He did cater his lessons to each of them, but he never bothered to care about the things they really wanted. Never cared enough to get to know them. To him, they were just another group of street urchins in Serkonos. Just a few children among the _hundreds_ that roam the streets. He just- 

He thought thievery was how those children, abandoned and cast aside by society, would survive. He thought he’d been helping them rebel against the unfortunate circumstances they were placed in. He just _assumed_ it was the only way, the only _right_ future given their situation. 

Daud thought an honest future for them was not possible, but in reality, he was just choosing an easier path, one wrought with less difficulties, less uncertainties. 

Corvo’s different. 

He treats each of them with every ounce of respect as he gives to any other person. Unlike Daud, he is optimistic for them, he never looks down on them, never assumes anything about them. He actually takes a genuine effort to get to know them, even during those short minutes of interaction each day. 

The thought that Corvo practices this calculated analysis all the time, masked by innocent actions, is _frightening_. 

He clearly hides sharp intelligence behind a quiet facade, practices his skill at manipulation with stunning precision and subtlety that rivals Daud's own. The only difference is that Corvo does so with a kindred spirit, always with good intent, unlike Daud who, only months ago, abused his skills openly to blackmail and force submission.

Is Corvo doing exactly that now? Worming his way past Daud's defences, before planting straight in, unobtrusively and stealthily, away from conscious awareness, as he slowly puppeteers Daud towards any direction he desires?

He's like an unassuming spider, small, that no one will deem a threat. He will spin a web so vast and expansive and yet still remain invisible to the naked eye, exerting his control with careful patience and thought. 

Just like what _Daud_ likes to do. 

But how can they be so similar but so different? 

And then Daud realises,

It all boils down to one reason: _hope_.

Corvo is forever hopeful. He always strives for honour in everything he does, no matter how hard it is. The crueller the world is to Corvo, the kinder he is towards it. The more he gets hurt, the gentler he becomes, the more merciful he becomes. It is because he still has hope for the world. 

Daud is the opposite. Daud scorns and hates society. He is cynical and sees no more hope for the world. 

Daud had determined decades ago that an honourable life was not worth trying for, not worth _fighting_ for. Society had never shown him otherwise; it was always cruel, overbearing, mocking. And when that was thrust into Daud’s face over and over, it soon became a _fact_. Daud stopped trying to fight against the tide, stopped questioning everything and just…gave in. When the cruel events became a normality, an inevitability, things stopped hurting after all. Everything became so much easier, _clearer_ even. 

And now that he knows this, he realises that in teaching those children exactly that, he’s just perpetuating that cycle of hopelessness and despair he himself used to hate, but grew to accept.

He had just casually decided for those children that all hope was gone, prodded them towards a path they never wanted to take. Never thought about the consequences, never considered about what he was _actually_ doing to those impressionable children. 

Not like Corvo. Corvo gives them _hope_. He gives them a chance, never tells them ‘no’. Corvo has cared for the children, noticed much more within _days_ when Daud had a _year_. 

The realisation is numbing, and it finally puts a real solid reason behind his obsessive motivation in uncovering the mystery of Corvo. 

It is something much more than Daud’s simple need to understand things that refuse to be understood. 

It goes much beyond just that.

Daud has long recognised the similarities between him and Corvo, physically and spiritually. Both grew up in Serkonos, experienced the culture here, were shaped by it. Both also went through similar experiences, going to Dunwall, living life in the lowest of society, suffered equal shares of unfairness and cruelty. Both were turned into _nothing_ once. 

And with such base similarities in mind, how is there such a stark difference between the two of them? 

How is it that the both of them could go through similar experiences, one turning completely devoid of hope, and the other, brimming full of it? How did Corvo end up being the one to shine so bright, while Daud ended up in the shadows? 

It all comes down to one thing: hope. 

_Hope_ is what allows Corvo to do everything Daud thinks impossible. Daud has lost his hope for the world long ago, and that is why he cannot understand a single thing that Corvo does. He is pessimistic, Corvo is optimistic. Corvo has hope, and Daud _doesn’t_. And that is why he can’t understand why Corvo spared him, why Corvo is so kind and gentle. 

And somewhere deep inside Daud, beyond Daud’s respect for Corvo, beyond his curiosity, beyond his… _envy_ , Daud _wants_ to be able to see that spark again. He _wants_ to be able to see hope the way Corvo does, and let others see it as well. 

And that is why he wants to know, why he seeks so desperately to understand Corvo, to know what makes him keep holding onto hope so that Daud can do the same. 

Daud’s throat is too dry to say anything with all that thick realisation, and all he does in response to Corvo is to nod vaguely, while stuffing in the last bit of sandwich into his mouth. 

Corvo stands up and walks away after that, and for once, Daud doesn't follow behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Deciding on the card game they would play was quite the nightmare. 
> 
> I initially intended for the card game to be Game of Nancy - the generic card game played in the Dishonored world - but the game was a little too complicated to describe its exact workings to those that don't know its rules, and the drafts ended up being either too descriptive or too vague that it became confusing. (I never actually played a real Game of Nancy before, but I did play the traditional French Tarot it is based on, and...well...it's actually a lot of fun. You should try it!) 
> 
> So I later settled on poker as the featured card game the whalers play, especially since there was a reference to poker in-game, (the hand names are genuine hand names mentioned in the game). 
> 
> ((Also, the cat is based on a very real, very demanding and aggravating little rascal. But it's _cute_ , so that basically forgives everything else.)) 
> 
> But anyway, thank you so much for reading and I hope that you have enjoyed the story thus far :)


	9. Going back Home

The second time Corvo meets Ralph, the boy frantically runs away. He keeps watching Corvo from the distance however, and when Corvo buys a bag of pies and holds it up in Ralph’s direction, the boy tentatively leaves the safety of the alley corner and peeks up at Corvo, accepting the bag. Ralph then thanks him, and runs off. 

The third time, Ralph is with his other friends, spying on Corvo from an alley. Corvo pretends not to notice them, just let them do as they wished. When it is lunch, Corvo does buy another bag of pies, leaving it at the roadside, knowing Ralph and his friends would come by to take it later. 

It is only the fourth time that Corvo actually gets to speak with Ralph again. Corvo sits him down with a pie, as per usual, and coaxes Ralph into telling him about his past. Corvo learns that Ralph ran away from an abusive father, out into the streets, where he had to learn to survive on his own despite his young age. 

And then Ralph looks at Corvo, bright-eyed. 

Corvo immediately recognises the gaze that Ralph gives him, that admiring glow in his eyes. It is the same look Emily gives him back in Dunwall. Corvo softens, and he gently pets Ralph once in comfort, making the boy startle and flush, but not move away. 

Ralph’s friends are more timid. It has taken a few times of leaving food by the roadside before they actually gained enough courage to approach Corvo, but once they did, Corvo quickly put them at ease and they started opening up to him, speaking to him without much restraint. 

But despite the days Ralph and his friends spent to get used to Corvo, they still retained a certain shakiness around him. Corvo knows that it will take more than a few days to erase the horrific realities of a street urchin’s life, but he hopes that he made them feel a little better. Safer, perhaps.

One afternoon, Corvo finally decides on a toy to bring back for Emily after perusing many, _many_ toy shops. He chooses a handcrafted wooden box with numerous locking mechanisms, a puzzle box, one that Corvo hopes will keep her entertained for some time. 

Ralph is waiting for him outside, which is odd, because he is usually never this bold around Corvo. 

"Uhm…Master Corvo?"

There is a smear on Ralph's face, and his hair is in a tangled nest. Corvo carefully plucks out a stray leaf in Ralph's hair, throwing it to the ground.

"Yes?"

Ralph chews on his lip thoughtfully, before finally looking up with bright eyes.

"He- uh, my _other_ master asked me if I wanted to train under a physician yesterday…" Ralph starts twiddling his thumbs, a troubled expression on his dirtied face. "Uhm…what should I do?"

Corvo just stops, blinking slowly at the new revelation. 

So Daud _did_ end up taking up Corvo’s advice after all. 

After that card game (of which Daud is still sour about), Corvo didn’t actually know what to do with him. He was giving Daud another chance, yes, but he wasn’t exactly certain of how to approach the man. 

Daud wasn’t killing anymore, he had left the blood business, but Corvo couldn’t simply just accept that as true repentance. For the crimes Daud had committed, it was going to take _much more_ than simply giving up the sword to pay for his actions. 

Corvo didn’t know what to do with him, and as Daud continued to tail him throughout the day, Corvo kept contemplating on the matter. 

It wasn’t until meeting the two sisters, Lily and Fiona, that Corvo got a faint idea of what to do. 

The two sisters, Lily and Fiona, were the ones most comfortable with Corvo, eager to have him as a mentor in teaching them how to read and write, always asking numerous questions about certain words they found from newspapers they didn’t understand. Their incessant questions didn’t bother Corvo, he knew it was because they didn’t have a teacher to guide them, and they were relying on themselves to figure out how to read and write. Their dedication to learn impressed Corvo, and he bought them a simple dictionary to aid them in their efforts. 

When Corvo asked them why they were trying to learn to read and write, Lily, the younger of the two, replied, 

“Uhm…People that can do that are smart, right? I want to be like them too. I don’t want to live in the streets and steal for the rest of my life…That’s…wrong, isn’t it? But he, the scary man wearing red, he says learning to read and write won’t make food magically pop out from the words on a book, he says we should be spending our time more wisely.” 

“Everyone else says the same thing. That we’re wasting our time, but…” Fiona faltered. 

Corvo saw their crestfallen expressions, the diminishing hope in their eyes, and he softened. 

“It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks. Keep trying, never lose faith, and someday you’ll be able to live the life you want to live. You two are very hard-working, I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” 

The two sisters smiled a little, brightening up, and returned back to asking Corvo their questions. 

Corvo knew the children could do so much more if they had something to help them along, and while Corvo was providing them with the guidance they needed, his presence in Serkonos was only temporary, and when he left, they would have nobody left. They would be stuck in poverty, unable to break out. 

Corvo had learnt from the children that Daud had been teaching them how to pickpocket for almost a year now. That explained why the children were noticeably much more proficient at it than the other street urchins. But they all still held the same sentiment inside: a wish for a better life, an _honest_ life. 

Corvo was honestly a little surprised to learn that Daud was teaching them so regularly. He didn’t expect Daud to want to waste his time doing that, but it revealed something important about the man. 

That he did care, to some extent, about the children. He cared enough to want to teach them to survive. Corvo could definitely see that. 

And he was reminded that Daud _did_ form the group of whalers himself, taught them all himself. 

So Daud clearly had a certain level of skill when it came to teaching, albeit lacking in some ways, but he wasn’t entirely _hopeless_. 

Daud truly was sincere in wanting to help those children. But…In a very misguided way. 

And Corvo immediately realised what he had to do, for the sake of these children that hoped for a brighter future. 

But Corvo didn’t actually know how to approach the subject to Daud. 

Knowing how prideful Daud was, telling him directly would probably just anger him, and Corvo didn’t need that. The right approach would be to be subtle, to drop a hint, to just show him the _second_ door, no more, no less, and just wait and observe. 

So he eventually came to the idea of buying lunch for the man (which he doubted Daud would outright reject), and slowly encroach on the topic, baiting him. 

Daud took the bait, and apparently, Corvo’s approach _worked_. 

Daud surprised Corvo once more by actually being receptive to his advice. He showed his sincerity in wanting to repent, which – at that point – was more than satisfactory for Corvo. 

Back to Ralph, Corvo asks, 

"Do you want to be a physician?" 

"I…don't know." Ralph admits, looking away.

"You don't have to decide now." Corvo kneels down to meet Ralph's eye level.

"You can tell Daud you need some time to think about it."

Ralph shakes his head.

"Or you can meet with the physician and watch him work for a few days to see if you like it. How about that?"

Ralph briefly meets Corvo's gaze, and looks away almost immediately.

"W-will you be here?"

Corvo falters the moment he hears that. He hasn't told the children he is going to leave after all, and the sight of Ralph's pleading, shining eyes makes Corvo feel a little guilty. He places both hands on Ralph's shoulders. 

"I'll be going to go back to Dunwall soon." Corvo says, very gently.

Ralph's eyes widens at that, undeniable sorrow in his eyes, and he looks back down, his tiny hands now clenched by his side. 

"Will you come back?" Ralph's voice is almost a squeak, and Corvo barely hears it.

Corvo sees Ralph start to shake.

"Of course."

"Promise?" Ralph demands, hands tightening by his side. His voice starts to thicken.

"I promise." 

Ralph still refuses to meet Corvo's gaze, and from Corvo's angle, he can barely see Ralph's reddened eyes.

"Okay. You promised!" Ralph's voice tries to be firm, but it is trembling, and Corvo reaches out to gently brush through Ralph's short hair, regardless of how greasy and dirty it is.

The soft motion makes Ralph jump at Corvo, small hands wrapping around Corvo's body, gripping his clothes tightly.

Brief surprise quickly melts away, and Corvo holds Ralph to him for that short moment, allowing the scrawny boy to bury his face into Corvo's coat. 

Ralph pulls away seconds later, mumbling an apology, and bolting off.

Corvo watches him go with short sadness. He wishes he could be there for them more, alleviate their loneliness and give them some well-needed love and attention, but he has his own duties back in Dunwall. The best thing he can do was to hand the reins to somebody else, to hopefully…Daud and his whalers. 

Corvo hopes it would end up paying off.

\----------

And now on a boat back to Dunwall, leaning over the edge and breathing the salted air, Corvo has some time to think about the things that have happened in Serkonos.

Corvo's last few days in Serkonos ended up being rather…enjoyable. Corvo slept well each night with the bone charm, he no longer woke up heaving, and he could tell that his strength and energy were returning. That deep, permeating ache in his muscles was fading, and he actually felt _rested_ for once when he woke up each morning. 

Corvo’s hand reaches into his front pocket at the thought. He can still hear the bone charm’s hissing, a musical melody that actually doesn’t sound too far off from birds chirping in the morning. It is a gift…or an apology, from _Daud_ , of all people. The idea is still uncomfortable to dwell on even after _days_ , and Corvo quickly sweeps the prodding thought away. 

After Corvo bought him that sandwich, Daud had stopped following him each day, and Corvo finally got to enjoy some true peace and quiet as he walked down the streets, relishing in the solitude and soaking in the lively atmosphere of Serkonos, his homeland.

When he left, Daud didn’t actually come to see Corvo off either, even though most of the whalers said a few words of parting to Corvo. Even the cat gave her own type of farewell, nuzzling Corvo’s hand affectionately, rubbing her small body on Corvo’s clothes and leaving fur all over before meowing once. 

"See you soon, Lord Attano." Devon had said. Feodor muttered the same thing a step behind Devon, and Corvo smiled at them both.

Kent had been next, and his eyes looked especially sad, even though his lips were in a smile. Kent had gotten rather close to Corvo in the past week after all, and Corvo could see that the physician was upset that he’s leaving, but was trying to force himself to be friendly. 

In his two weeks here, he’s been surprised by the whalers the most. The whalers are actually decent people, and although they tend to avoid Corvo if possible, they have tried to be friendlier towards him, engaging him in conversation during the mornings when he comes down to eat breakfast (Daud also eats there). 

Kent is the whaler he knows best. The young man had avoided Corvo after he told him his private life story, always flushing in a startling shade of red as he briskly walked off in the opposite direction from Corvo. It took days of Corvo’s constant reassurances to coax the timid man back out from his shell, and when he resumed speaking to Corvo, he was much more at ease, more comfortable with him. Kent still calls Corvo "Lord Attano", even though Corvo has told him a couple of times that he doesn't mind "Corvo", a habit the physician can’t seem to break. 

Feodor is the next one Corvo thinks of. Blond haired, blue-eyed, and so terribly nervous around Corvo. The man’s always very careful to keep a certain distance from Corvo if they happen to be in the same room.

When Corvo found him alone one evening, in the corridor on the second floor in the inn, the blond man yelped and crashed backwards into a bookshelf, toppling it over and making the books fall over him in an avalanche. 

Feodor completely lost his composure from that, apologising frantically all while being buried under the pile of books. 

“I-I’m so sorry, oh by the Void, I di-didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry, please- ” 

“Calm down.” Corvo had said, and Feodor sunk back further into the books, blue eyes wide. 

Feodor’s fear was genuine, poignant, staining his face in white, and Corvo was reminded of Kent’s story about Feodor getting severely injured the day…Jessamine…died. Corvo had put together the pieces the moment Kent said it, and he finally understood why the blond man was this terrified of him. 

Corvo said nothing, eyes still on the young whaler trapped in books. He walked forth – Feodor tensed up at the movement – and shifted the bookshelf back into place, picking up a fallen book and slotting it back in. 

Feodor got off from the floor and started doing the same, rearranging the bookshelf from the opposite side. 

“I shot you.” Corvo stated later, when he was halfway through his side of the bookshelf. 

Feodor dropped the books he had been carrying, pressing himself back against the wall, his palm covering one particular part of his body, where Corvo guessed he got shot at. 

“Uh, no- yes, uhm…I-” Feodor kept glancing around, hoping for the slim chance that _somebody_ would come by to rescue him from this predicament. “I really don’t blame you uhm…I mean…” 

“…I’m glad you’re alright.” Corvo had told him softly as he picked up a book from the floor, dusting it off with a cursory wipe. 

Feodor just looked at him like Corvo was absolutely insane, chest rising up and down in controlled breaths in attempts to calm himself down, not saying anything else. 

After that however, Feodor seemed to have warmed up to him somewhat, and he started participating in the morning conversations when the whalers invited him to speak. So Feodor became less frightened of Corvo over time. 

Devon always tried to be cool-headed, but he was noticeably more fidgety around Corvo, even as he tried to converse with Corvo. He was one of the friendlier whalers, despite his nervousness.

Corvo later found out that the man was passionate about weaponry and combat techniques, keeping an enormous collection of daggers in his room. Corvo took advantage of the fact when he learnt of that, steering each conversation with Devon towards that direction to ease him into a more tranquil, looser state, before slowly edging him towards other subjects. And soon enough, Devon didn’t even realise he stopped stuttering in Corvo’s presence. 

Zachary was an odd one. He was the whaler Corvo saw the least in the inn, slipping in and out quietly like a spectre, but each time Corvo saw him, he always had a serious, silent demeanour, speaking only when prompted to. Zachary never spoke to Corvo once, but he wasn’t necessarily terrified of him like the other whalers were either. 

Then one day Corvo caught him in the kitchen holding a crudely made feather toy in one hand, the cat pawing up at it from the ground. Zachary completely froze when he saw Corvo in the doorway, and Corvo had paused for a few seconds, just taking in the sight, before turning tail and pointedly walking away, leaving Zachary with the curious little animal and a pink feather toy in hand. 

The whalers are an odd bunch, Corvo finally decides. Corvo at first expected them to be hostile, unfriendly, violent – like Daud – except that they weren’t. Corvo found that the whalers are surprisingly kind-hearted, goofy sometimes, but they do have a good heart. No one would have even guessed they were assassins once. And admittedly, Corvo’s a little happy that they all found a better life outside the blood business, forming a little family of their own.

\----------

When the boat finally docks at Dunwall, Corvo spares no time. He hurries out back into the tower, to his office, and then changes back into his crisp, clean uniform.

He’s eager to get back to work, to return back to his usual routine and of course, to see Emily again. 

Corvo knows that when he left, Emily had been trying to be happy, smiling because Corvo was finally taking a break, but Corvo saw the deep sorrow in her brown eyes (so similar to his, _too_ similar). The memories of her…mother…dying was still fresh after all, and the sorrow in her eyes screamed out to Corvo, voicing all her hidden concerns and anxieties in a single look.

She was scared that if Corvo left, he wouldn’t come back, and just disappear forever like Jessamine had. 

She never told Corvo of course, but Corvo read it from her eyes, and had hugged her reassuringly, a hand rubbing up and down her small back when he left.

She would be so happy to see Corvo again. 

And just then, the same young girl bursts through the doors with jubilant excitement, immediately jumping in for a hug.

Corvo indulges her, and a warm smile breaks free on his face as she excitedly tells him about her day. Corvo’s heart warms at her excitement, and he patiently listens to her every word. 

She’s dressed in white today. Her clothes are spotless, but Corvo notices the noticeable smears of dried mud and dirt over her shoes. Clearly the girl has been doing some things…inappropriate of an empress. But Corvo mentions nothing about it. Emily doesn’t have many things that can make her happy these days. 

Her black hair is very long now, and she ties it up in a high bun to look a little older, just as Jessamine did, and from certain angles, she looks just like Jessamine did in her youth, bright and bubbly, with an innocent smile that could hide all thoughts of mischief conjured by a devious mind. 

“How was your holiday, Corvo?” 

Despite her matured look, her voice still retains a child-like tone to it, and Corvo is always grateful for that. Her eyes sparkle with pure, unadulterated adoration for Corvo, almost the same gaze as Ralph had for Corvo. 

“Good.” Corvo says, and rummages for the present he has packed into his bag. 

His hands brush past his clothes, and behind the stack-

Something long and yellow catches his eye. 

Corvo casts it a brief glance, momentarily confused. It is a card with punched-in holes on the surface. An audiograph. 

Corvo blinks at it. He doesn’t remember putting it in, much less recording anything in Serkonos. 

“What are you looking for?” Emily breaks in to ask, peering over his shoulder curiously. 

Corvo snaps out of the thought, reaching in further to pull out the wrapped up package for Emily. It is slightly bigger than his palm, wrapped in brown parchment and tied off with a simple ribbon at the top. Emily brightens up at the sight, taking it in her small hands (it is bigger than both her palms combined). 

“It’s…a box?” Emily questions, as she unwraps it carefully, revealing the polished box. 

“I’ll give you something special if you manage to open it.” Corvo tells her, and Emily perks up at the prospect of another present. 

Emily overturns it, shakes it a few times, and then stares at the curious engravings on the sides. Her fingers brush against its polished surface a few times, and then she looks back up at Corvo. 

“Thank you, Corvo!” She beams at him, her smile unrestrained and genuine, very different from the false smiles she puts on in court. 

She starts to fiddle with it, pull and push at certain sections with a puzzled expression on her face, and Corvo immediately knows that he’s chosen the right present for her. 

Emily is getting older now, and being an Empress, it is good to engage her mind past the imaginary constructs she used to indulge in. Emily herself is losing interest in dolls and other toys anyway, preferring more challenging things that exercise her mind and stimulate her thinking, so the puzzle box is definitely something that will keep her sufficiently entertained. 

Corvo puts the mysterious audiograph at the back of his mind for the rest of the day, returning back to handling his usual duties as Royal Protector, conducting patrols and reading the guardsmen’s reports. 

It is only late at night that he’s able to pull out the odd audiograph and play it with his audiograph player, in the privacy of his own room. 

A rugged voice comes out, and Corvo freezes. 

_" When Burrows came to me with the job, with the amount of coin he promised, accepting it was all too easy. Killing is second nature to me; I’ve killed many nobles before, and another noble would always step in, all equally corrupt. I’ve split so much blood that you could float a whaling ship on all that high-born blood. That one job shouldn't have mattered. An empress shouldn’t have been any different.”_

A pause. 

_“But it was. I felt it in my gut when I reached Dunwall tower, knew I’d pay for this one, but the plan was already in action. Months of planning finally coming to fruition.”_

There is a short sigh. 

_“But when I killed your empress and took her daughter, something broke inside me. I already knew I wouldn’t escape from this one like always, can’t fade away back into shadows, and the Outsider’s appearance after that only confirmed it. A storm was coming, one that would shake apart everything I had built. He told me my story was closing to ending, and he gave me a name, a mystery…Delilah.”_

Another pause. 

_“The city writhed and changed after that. Plague. Corruption. Everything fell to pieces. I tried to forget what…I did…to the empress, her daughter, but there was no forgetting. All I had was that name, Delilah._

_My second-in-command, Billie Lurk, came to me with information six months later of a ship named Delilah, owned by Bundry Rothwild, an owner of a slaughterhouse._

_It was a ship sold to him by Barrister Timsh, named after some painter that used to work in Dunwall tower. Her, Delilah._

_Further investigation revealed that Timsh was under Delilah’s spell, that dirty bastard became so obsessed with her that he gave her half his whole fortune. It was clear then, Delilah was a witch, versed in the supernatural arts, and she was planning something. Something big._

_But days later, my hideout was attacked. Overseers stormed the place, killed and captured some of my men. I was-”_

There is a long pause, with only static coming from the audiograph player. 

_“Lurk betrayed me. She was working with Delilah all that time, trying to destroy me. She said I had grown weak, after…the empress’s death, and wanted to usurp me. Take my place. But she couldn’t go through it in the end, and I…spared her life.”_

Another sigh. 

_“I was in a mad duel with her, Delilah. She had formed a coven of witches in Brigmore Manor, planning some kind of ritual. A mystery, one that had the fate of the empire on the line, and if I wanted to find out what it was, I needed to get up-river, to Brigmore Manor, way past the quarantine line. I needed a ship._

_So I rescued Lizzy Stride, leader of the Dead Eels, broke her out from Coldridge, A smuggler, one who knew the river well, and one that I could trust._

_She’d been betrayed by one of her men, Edgar Wakefield, and I helped her regain control of her ship back in Drapers Ward, then a battleground for two rival gangs: Lizzy’s gang, and the Hatters, after the plague ran it through the ground._

_Her boat was missing an engine coil, stolen by the Hatters after their water pump stopped working. Getting it back took some smoothing out of their gang relations, but I was eventually ready to head off and face Delilah._

_The ritual she was planning, she had a painting of Emily Kaldwin. She thought to possess her, use her as a mindless puppet and rule Dunwall for herself._

_I just –_

_I couldn’t let that happen, not when I saw what hung in balance. Saw what the stakes were. So I went into the Void to have a final showdown with her, and then locked her within the Void, within a painting. I stopped her, ended her plans._ ”

Yet another pause. 

_"When I returned, I knew you were going to come for me eventually. I knew I had to pay. And when I saw you in the Flooded District, the mark of the Outsider on the back of your hand, I remembered all I'd done._

_Years of waiting for the right moment to step forward from an alley and drive a knife between the ribs of some noble. All the money exchanging hands, from one rich bastard to another. Killing for one of them one year, then being paid to kill him in return the next._

_The Outsider said I would change things…that I was somehow important. It always made me feel good. Made me believe I was powerful._

_But you. Gifted with supernatural powers, more powerful than any other man, you always found some other way. You never let that power get to you, not like the bastard nobles in Dunwall. You took the path I could have followed…but did not._

_And then you spared me, showed me mercy. Showed more honour than all the nobles combined. You had everything stolen away, life ruined, but you still let me live, still gave me another chance. You…didn't deserve to suffer like you did._

_And I'm sorry."_

The audiograph ends right there, and the audiograph player releases the paper out, while Corvo just stands in the room, unmoving.


	10. A Request

The year passes slowly but steadily, and Daud busies himself with work back in the inn, settling the accounts and other administrative matters. The whalers have long settled back into their normal routines, going out in the morning for their respective jobs, returning back at night to drink and play cards with each other as usual. 

The cat remains in the inn – as Daud had feared – and the feline eventually warms up to several of the whalers, although it clearly has favourites, primarily Kent and oddly enough, Zachary. 

The cat shredded one of Daud’s shirt once, and Daud pointedly threw it out of the inn out of petty anger (until Zachary picked it back in), and since then, their relationship became tolerable at best. If Daud doesn’t do anything to it, the animal doesn’t do anything to him. 

The cat is now very comfortable in the inn, affectionately greeting all the whalers when they return home (Daud is one glaring exception), and if not given sufficient attention for the night, the cat would start to parade all over their game table, flicking coins off the table and shoving the cards aside until some whaler gives in to its demands. 

Playing with the cat soon becomes part of their activities in their night gatherings, and Daud has caught himself on more than one occasion watching the stupid feline chasing after a pink feathered toy over his book. 

The whalers often say that the cat is very soft, warm, liquid, and comfortable to sleep with, and Daud always shoots them an unimpressed look, faintly disgusted. 

Meanwhile, their resident physician, Kent, spent _weeks_ to get used to Ralph, the young black-haired street urchin. The young boy took to Kent almost instantly, asking innumerable questions, always demanding to get some whale meat to practice stitching. Kent had no idea how to handle the curious child at first, but he eventually managed it, and the two were almost inseparable since. 

Ralph often asks when Corvo would be coming back, and Kent could never give him an answer, his default reply being “he’s busy”. Ralph always has a crestfallen look when Kent says so, but that doesn’t stop him from asking at least three times per week. 

Every single time Ralph mentions Corvo, Daud grimaces a little inside. 

He still recalls that stupid act of recording the audiograph, and the impulsive decision to sneak it into Corvo’s bag. 

(It’s odd, really, considering that _Daud_ snuck an audiograph into Corvo’s bag, and _Corvo_ snuck a sum of coin into Daud’s treasury, possibly payment for letting him stay there.) 

Ever since Corvo spared him back in Dunwall, there was always something bugging Daud, like an insistent itch under his skin. Daud never cared enough to think on it, just chucked everything into a tightly locked safe in his mind…until Corvo came to Serkonos. 

The safe was blown wide open with Corvo’s mere presence, and Daud was quickly swallowed by colossal mess inside him, nearly knocked out cold as if a tsunami just slammed straight into him. Everything was too much to deal at one go, most definitely, and Daud’s constant refusal to face his issues for a _year_ certainly didn’t help it to be any less easy to handle. 

Corvo threw him into a vortex, tossing him around like a ragdoll, battering Daud left and right with furious blasts of intense emotions, which ultimately only added to the already massive weight on his shoulders. 

It was only until he recorded the audiograph and snuck it into Corvo’s bag that he felt that pressure lift somewhat, a feeling both relieving and light at the same time. 

Daud honestly doesn’t know how Corvo would react to that…confession. He could be angry, shocked, maybe upset, or perhaps relieved. Daud finds that any of those emotions are damning, and he stops himself from dwelling on it any further. 

Apart from that, Corvo remains a mystery. He still intrigues Daud, and throughout the year, Daud has been actively trying to learn more about him, to try understand his past, to understand what shaped him into the person he came to be. 

He knows the Royal Protector came from Karnaca (where Daud is currently residing), that he was a lower-class Serkonan. He knows that he fought a lot in his childhood, eventually winning his way in the Blade Verbena at the tender age of sixteen. 

But _how_ did he learn to fight? What were his parents like? Did he have siblings? Where did he used to live? 

Those questions led him to several trips deep into the lonely alleys of Karnaca in his spare time, far out from his inn. He always tries to memorise the way the alleys look, how they look in the morning, the afternoon, the night. How the air smells, or stinks, and how a young boy would be living in these roads, fighting his way to survive. 

What would such a young boy have felt? 

Perhaps the alleys now in Karnaca are very different from the ones Corvo used to roam decades ago, but going there helps. 

It helps Daud visualise the exact place Corvo stayed in, the sunny weather, the cracked grey buildings, the crowded main roads bustling with people. 

Daud himself lived near the sea as a child, mostly on boats, a different environment than Corvo, and the rare times he was in the city, he would nearly always get overwhelmed by the number of people. Everyone always felt _bigger_ than him, and Daud, even as a child, wanted to grow, wanted to be powerful and strong so that they couldn’t hurt him. 

When Daud walks through the thin, broken down alleys in the outskirts of Karnaca, perhaps places Corvo may have frequented in the past, he can imagine a young boy darting through the roads, using the twisted roads and alleys to his advantage to lose pursuers or plan an ambush. 

When he smells the stink in the air, he can imagine sleeping in the smell, never _truly_ asleep, always alert and ready to spring up for a fight if the need calls.

And when he sees slash marks scarring the walls, he can see a young boy struggling to learn the way of the sword, surely committing many clumsy and amateurish mistakes in the process. 

It helps paint a clearer picture of _who_ Corvo had been in the past, what kind of young boy he had been. Brash perhaps, courageous, persistent. It helps Daud understand a little of the experiences Corvo went through as a child, the place he lived in, and what kind of influences he might have had. 

It makes Corvo feel like less of a mystery than he is, and it doesn’t take long for Daud to realise he _enjoys_ those trips out to the alleys. 

The time that is not spent working or in the dark alleys of Karnaca is usually spent watching over the children he picks up from the streets. 

Corvo was right about those children.

Ralph is doing well under Kent, and the two sometimes spend the evenings reading an anatomy book together, huddled in some corner of the inn. 

As for the two girls, Lily and Fiona, they are extremely curious – too curious for Daud – and he quickly lost patience dealing with their incessant questions. He snapped once, which ended up with Lily (who’s much younger than Ralph) crying, and the two stopped pestering Daud after that, and instead, started giving their questions to Connor, another whaler at the inn. 

The other children are doing well too, and all of them have gotten used to their new lives happily, abandoning their previous life of thievery completely. 

Corvo will probably be glad to see that, Daud sometimes thinks. 

Other days (like today) see Daud completely bored in the inn. He goes through books like the plague rats go through a corpse, and he completes his work quickly, so it isn’t rare that he has absolutely nothing to do. The chores in the inn, the cleaning, the stock-taking, all those duties are too tedious for him, so he leaves it to his whalers instead. 

Those times, with nothing to occupy himself with, his thoughts will start to wander, tread into the muck-filled mess that is Daud’s mind and pull out gruesome memories back from Dunwall, something that would in turn set loose the grotesque disaster of guilt, regret and sadness, leaving Daud numb for hours, body wrecked with pain.

It is all too easy to imagine what things _could_ have been, if he hadn’t done any of the things he did in Dunwall, but Daud knows it is just pointless wallowing. 

He had made his choices, and he can only take what comes. 

But even that realisation doesn’t stop Daud’s thoughts from straying. 

Daud catches himself one step away from going back down into that bleak pitfall, and he quickly gets up, going downstairs to grab a book to distract himself. 

It is an early afternoon, and the sun is especially bright, casting a feverish warmth in the entire inn. 

When he is downstairs, he finds that the book he wants to reread (about mechanical and engineering concepts) is being – unbelievably so – taken captive by one lone napping cat. Daud glares at the black mass, immediately regretting his decision of leaving the book on the table hours prior. 

Now it has been claimed as a napping spot for the stupid animal. 

Daud stomps forth, making his footsteps as loud as possible, and the cat blearily opens its eyes, bright greenish-blue eyes staring at Daud with an astonishing level of defiance even his whalers don’t dare to give.

“Get off.” Daud snaps, folding his arms. 

The cat doesn’t move, keeps staring at Daud with the exact same stubborn stare. 

Daud absolutely refuses to touch the damn animal, and he’s tempted to go back upstairs to retrieve his wristbow when-

The cat suddenly perks up, ears shooting upright, black tail flicking up. It looks towards the door, and bounds over with a certain eagerness that makes Daud puzzled for a moment. It usually isn’t this excited even if her favourite people (Kent and Zachary) come home. 

Almost on cue, the door opens, and the cat meows along with the creaking sound. The person that enters is tall, dressed in a grey coat and he’s- 

Daud pauses. 

Corvo looks exactly like how he had been a year ago, although his hair is an inch shorter. The cat mewls once more, tail flicking, and it starts to rub against Corvo’s leg passionately while it lets out a motor-like purr (that Daud seldom hears). 

Corvo barely bends down to pet it before it pounces up, leaping into his arms contentedly. Corvo rubs in between its ears, and when Daud looks up at the Royal Protector, he looks _almost_ smiling. 

After a few more seconds of indulging the cat, Corvo looks up at Daud. 

His brown eyes are the exact shade Daud knows, lighter in the intense rays of the Serkonan sun. They briefly light up with resentment, extinguishing just as quickly. He looks as sharp as ever, and Corvo studies Daud for a minute or so, without saying anything. 

Daud remembers the audiograph, and suddenly the brown eyes are very heavy, so Daud looks away, walking over to take his book. He brushes the few black hairs off the cover irritably, and walks back upstairs to his room without saying a single word. 

Predictably, the whalers excite at Corvo’s return – not all, some remain nervous, but most are happy to see him. Kent beams when he sees Corvo after he comes back from the clinic, welcoming him with a rare enthusiasm Daud hardly sees. Ralph, black-haired and young, screams out, leaping into Corvo’s arms when he sees the Royal Protector. Corvo allows himself to be embraced, gently ruffling Ralph’s hair once before setting him down. 

Daud had already known that Corvo would return. He already knew, and yet, even with that knowledge, Daud still has no idea how to deal with him, so for the whole day, he says nothing to Corvo, doesn’t even look at him sometimes. Corvo doesn’t talk to him either, and the both of them seem content just pretending the other _isn’t_ there. 

Night eventually comes, and the suffocating afternoon heat finally lifts, letting a cooling chill takes its place. Daud is comfortably seated on his bed, his book open in his hands. 

About a quarter through the book, very late into the night, Daud spots a flash of blue outside his window from the corner of his eye.

Daud gives it a brief glance. 

It is a cloudless night today, and the moon shines an iridescent glow upon the landscape, bathing every building in white. 

Another flash appears, further away this time, and Daud makes out the familiar glimmering shine of the Outsider’s mark. Daud frowns.

Daud closes his book, stares out of the window. Daud can only barely see a form crossing the rooftops, a bright green and yellow flaring from a hand. 

Daud’s frown deepens, his facial muscles tight.

What is Corvo _doing_? 

Daud thinks to go back to reading, he really shouldn’t meddle with the Royal Protector’s business. Things are already very strained between them, so taut that it could possibly snap if Daud just gives it a soft pull. 

Daud spares a look to the book, and the window, contemplating. 

The curiosity that burns within him eventually becomes too much, and Daud abandons his book, throwing it to his table. He moves over to wrestle the window latch open, briefly pockets a few vials of the new solution, Addermire Solution - which can restore both mind and body - and steps out into the air. 

He feels the rush of adrenaline as he starts to fall, and then he clenches his left fist out of instinct. A chill rushes to his mark, dragged from all parts of his body, and his own mark burns to life. The world greys as time stills to a halt, his momentum temporarily paused. Daud releases, expelling the magic, and he blinks to the nearest rooftop, materialising from ash. He feels his mark burn as it reabsorbs the magic he cast out, the strange freezing burn unlike any sensation from the real world. It is an otherworldly sensation, hard to describe, but if he had to compare it, it would be the stomach-dropping sensation felt in freefall combined with the force of a gun recoil, finished off with the explosive ignition of volatile whale oil. 

It takes a few blinks before Daud spots Corvo’s flash in the distance, an icy blue in the dark night. Daud chases after its light, mark glowing. He jumps from rooftop to rooftop, footsteps light against the metallic tiles, and a gush of thrill starts rushing through his veins, tingling from the use of magic. 

Corvo notices Daud following him soon enough, but he pays no attention to it, going from rooftop to rooftop in a combination of leaps and blinks. 

Where is Corvo headed? From what Daud can gather, he’s not heading in any specific direction, just jumping randomly. 

This continues for a while until Daud’s heart has sped up to a quick pace, his breaths deeper from the running and use of magic. 

His body is covered in a film of sweat, chilled by the night, and his blood is set alight with that odd freezing burn that he only feels when using magic. It is not uncomfortable, more riveting and seductive. 

Daud used to hungrily seek for that feeling each night when he was first marked. It made him feel powerful, unstoppable, and he _loved_ it. It gave him a brief, tantalising taste of the Void, alien, foreign, very alive, and it saturated his clothes in its dusty, empty smell, a smell of which Daud would go to sleep with, the scent soaked deeply in his lungs. 

Corvo then stops, and Daud sees him pause at the edge of a building. Corvo stares out, and when Daud catches up nearer to him, he sees that the space between the buildings is large, very wide in fact. 

With Corvo’s present powers, he can’t possibly make the jum-

But Corvo goes, running off the edge and leaping, all without fear and hesitation. 

He _can’t_ make it. He’s going to fall short. 

Daud curses, breaking into a sprint that makes his footsteps thunder across the rooftop. He blinks a few times in quick succession, before his expelled magic can even be reabsorbed, and his blood _burns_ in response to the sudden depletion in energy. 

He catches Corvo mid-air, arm wrapping around his waist, the best way to grab him, mark on his left arm flashing as it saps the energy from his veins. 

The world greys, filling with that familiar dusty smell, and Daud’s motion halts. 

Daud releases the magic the next second, his right arm protesting against Corvo’s weight, and they both slam down into the rooftop Corvo was attempting to reach. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Daud demands. 

Corvo, thrown to the rooftop, stares up at Daud, faintly surprised. 

“What. Are. You. Doing?!” Daud growls out more harshly, uncaring of how loud he is right now. His right arm is still burning, and his veins feel like they’ve been set on fire. 

“Exploring.” Corvo replies seconds later, in a neutral tone. Before Daud can snap something back, Corvo cocks his head to the side. “How did you do that?” 

“Do what?!” 

“Stop time while you blink.” 

Daud disregards him, now freshly irritated. His body burns from the depleted energy, and he uncaps one Addermire Solution to pour it down his throat, careful not to let it linger on his tongue. The solution is exceptionally bitter, extremely distasteful, despite its restorative benefits. 

The invigorating feeling explodes from his stomach, seeping into his veins and cooling his blood. The faint fatigue wears off. Daud then looks back at Corvo, who has gotten back up on his feet and is watching Daud carefully. 

“You couldn’t have made that jump.” Daud lectures, reeling back his temper. 

Corvo tilts his head once more. 

“I know that.” 

And then his control slips, snaps, and Daud is very tempted to fling the empty vial at Corvo’s head, bash it in, but he stills his hand. 

“What would you have done if I didn’t step in?” Daud asks, and he tries to keep his tone civil, but his question comes out cold and derisive anyway. Does the damned bodyguard want to end up decorating the floor with his guts and blood? What a stupid thing to do while on a fucking _holiday_ , Daud’s thoughts rage on in his mind. 

“Landed on the second floor balcony.” 

The reply takes a while to sink in, and Daud feels annoyed all over again. Corvo wouldn’t have gotten hurt either way, he just wanted to see what Daud would do.

Test him. _Play_ him. The realisation hits Daud like a punch to the face. Did he just get _manipulated? Again?!_

Daud takes a deep breath in, and out. No, he can’t lose his temper. 

“How did you do it?” Corvo asks once more. 

Daud peers at him. Corvo isn’t looking at Daud like the despicable assassin he is. There is a shine in his eyes, infused with white from the moon, quite unlike any expression he’s ever seen from Corvo. His eyes are illuminated like the stars in the sky, striking and bright. 

He’s…curious, Daud realises flatly. 

He considers not telling Corvo, but he thinks of his audiograph, and something in his mind gives way. 

“Practice. Training. Runes.” 

Corvo considers him.

“Could you teach me?” 

Daud snaps up, bewildered. _What the fuck?_

After a year without Corvo, Daud has forgotten how upsetting it is to keep getting surprised by Corvo, how frustrating it is to constantly be unable to understand him, and now, he feels that biting sensation latch back on like a stubborn hagfish, not letting go. 

Corvo wants Daud to _teach_ him? Is he insane? 

_Teach?_

And then somebody else flashes by his mind. Dark-skinned, short hair, female, used to be Daud’s student. _Billie Lurk_.

Every charitable thought in Daud’s mind disappears in an instant. 

“No.” He spits out, vitriol in his voice. 

Corvo blinks at him a few times, surprised by the vehement rejection. 

“Why?”

“ _No_.” Daud repeats. 

Corvo keeps staring at him, his eyes noticeably harder, with a twinge of resentment and annoyance. 

It should be a simple request, teaching, and Daud should _want_ to agree instantly after everything he’s done to Corvo in his bid to atone and make amends. Corvo has spared Daud multiple times too, and it must anger Corvo that Daud is saying ‘no’ to him despite everything. 

But Daud thinks of Billie Lurk once again, and what happened with her.

 _Betrayal._ His men dead. The pain. The hurt. 

Daud’s throat closes. His decision doesn’t change. _He won’t do it_. 

“I said _no_.” Daud snarls. 

A silence follows, with Daud and Corvo still standing at the rooftop. 

“Why did you stop Delilah?” 

Daud freezes, not expecting the sudden question. And then he swallows, because it’s not something he wants to talk about. 

“Does it matter?” Daud tries to brush it off with a harsh tone. He really doesn’t want to talk about that. 

“Answer me.” Corvo’s normally soft and gentle tone suddenly spikes in hardness and firmness, rivalling Daud’s own, and Daud knows he can’t escape from this. 

“I already told you.” _In the audiograph_ , Daud doesn’t add. He glares at Corvo.

“Tell me.” Corvo’s eyes are so piercing. “ _Daud_.” 

Daud’s name coming from Corvo’s mouth makes Daud completely still, as though he’d just been stabbed. It is a mystery how Corvo can switch from that curious, neutral person to an authoritative, intimidating person so quickly without warning, and yet still somehow retain a certain soft gentleness to him. 

“I just _did_ it. Saving Emily _wasn’t_ the end goal, it was an indirect effect. Delilah killed my men, I wanted revenge.” Daud’s words sound hollow and terribly insincere even to him, and he knows Corvo can sense it too. 

“Do not _lie_ to me.” Corvo’s tone is still soft, but it has a dangerous undertone to it that makes Daud see that there is real truth in the stories of how Corvo makes nobles collapse and crumble in his presence when they try to defy him. Corvo knows how to use his voice as a weapon, adjust his tone, his gaze, and without even unsheathing his sword, he can make nobles submit to his demands. He may still be gentle at the core, like everything Corvo is, but it still sounds like an order, a command, and the heaviness in his voice feels like a genuine sword pressing against the throat. 

Daud swallows again and looks away. He knows he’s being unfair to Corvo. He is the one that ruined Corvo, and he deserves the _truth_. 

“I wanted to redeem myself. I regret…killing her.” Daud finally spits the detestable words out, and they leave his lips in a subdued tone, vulnerable, quiet, very unlike him. 

Something is falling away and breaking apart within him as he says it. 

Corvo switches back to his neutral demeanour, blinking slowly at Daud. 

“Do you still regret?” 

Daud suddenly feels trapped, and _angry_.

Is he going to force Daud to admit _everything_? All his guilt, the regret. What more does he want from Daud that he can’t already figure out or infer by himself?

“Yes.” Daud answers. 

Daud wants to fight back, to fight against how vulnerable he feels when Corvo puts him in this situation, but he _can’t_. 

“You would take it back if you could?”

Admitting it is tearing him apart. Each word feels like it is ripping Daud apart, pulling muscle from bone, leaving him naked and bare, so open to attack by the tremendous guilt and regret inside him. It _hurts_. 

“Yes.” 

It is reminding him of _everything_ , the screams of pain in Dunwall, the city falling to ruin, Corvo getting tortured, every single consequence of his actions. 

“Do you still want to redeem yourself?” 

Daud hates Corvo for doing this, for bringing this up, _knowing_ that it hurts Daud. 

“..Yes.”

Daud can feel the horrible constricting of his chest, so tight that a blade in his heart is preferable to _this_. 

He knows that Corvo’s doing this to remind Daud of his debt to Corvo, to get Daud to agree to teach him. 

The knowledge makes exasperation brews to life within him, and suddenly, he wants to shout at Corvo, to explain himself, to do… _something_ , but all the words are lost in his whirling mind, turned into ashes. 

Corvo just doesn’t understand. 

Daud _knows_ exactly how much he owes Corvo, he doesn’t need to be reminded of all his guilt, his failures. He _is_ sincere about atoning, although it must seem otherwise to Corvo with his blatant refusal to such a straightforward and simple request. 

It’s unfair. It’s frustrating. 

Daud wants to say something, but his throat remains stuck. 

Corvo just...doesn’t know anything.

Billie Lurk had been his best student, his second-in-command, one of the few people Daud ever trusted in the dirty blood business. 

How could he not, after completing so many missions with her, supporting each other throughout while covered in blood and sweat?

He allowed Billie to understand him like nobody else had, sometimes even confided with her. He had _trusted_ her, even though he clearly knew the danger of doing so, a trust that Daud gave so very sparingly, and that only made her eventual betrayal hurt even more. 

It shook Daud completely to the core, while he was still scrambling to deal with all the lingering guilt from Jessamine’s death. 

In the past, Daud actually used to enjoy teaching. He was good at it, good at mentoring people, catering his lessons to each of them. It was one of the rare things that made him somewhat happy in the bleakness of Dunwall. It was the very reason why the whalers even existed, even though Daud usually enjoys working alone. He liked seeing his whalers improve, he liked having that mentor-student relationship with them, and the best thing of it was always the pride he felt when he saw them succeed.

Billie Lurk was his best student, and she _betrayed_ him. 

After Billie’s betrayal, he just completely stopped training any of the whalers. They never dared to question him why, but they noticed, of course. 

He just couldn’t bring himself to do it anymore, not when his already fragile trust in the world had been taken for granted and broken by Billie. He felt like he'd _failed_ her somehow, failed every single one of his whalers, and the thought of going through that whole process of getting to know each one of his students, to painstakingly build that close relationship with them, to inevitably start to get _familiar_ with them, _trust_ them…Daud couldn’t bear to do it again.

Billie’s betrayal had poured salt into the already deep wounds from Jessamine’s death, and it had scarred him in ways Jessamine’s death _didn’t_ , inflicting new wounds, all deep, all cut too close to his tortured soul. 

He completely lost all the enjoyment he used to feel from teaching, and he never taught any other whaler ever again.

Billie Lurk had been his last student. 

When he came to Serkonos, it took a lot of time before he finally started teaching those street children to pickpocket. It took _weeks_ of watching, observing, seeing everyday how bruised and hurt they were after they got caught and beaten up before Daud finally gave in to sympathy, remembering all too well that many of his own whalers came from similar backgrounds, the same scars and wounds all over. 

He was teaching them, yes, but there was no joy in it, not like in the past. Billie still haunted him, the wounds she left were still fresh, still bleeding profusely, all day, all the time, and Daud always remained purposefully distant to the children, cold, strict and terribly harsh. He limited his lessons to purely pickpocketing, never taught them the way of the sword. Even with all that, he never liked teaching them, it always made him feel raw and hurt, phantom pains all over. He just refused to let those children close; he didn’t even let them know his name. 

And now _Corvo_ is asking him to teach. 

Daud's heart gives a painful squeeze, and the breath he lets out is close to a wheeze. 

He...can't do that.

It’s hitting a very personal territory of Daud’s. 

But Corvo doesn’t know that. He doesn’t understand exactly what he’s asking Daud to do. How could he anyway? Daud doesn’t expect him to, and he doesn’t want to explain it to him either.

“You regret.” Corvo says, and the words _hurt_. Daud knows Corvo is angry at Daud for rejecting his request. He’s upset at Daud’s apparent ungratefulness after having the kindness to spare him multiple times, but he doesn’t know what he’s asking Daud to do. 

Daud doesn’t even realise that he’s starting to shake. He’s frustrated, he’s upset, he’s annoyed. Everything is collapsing on him once more, crushing down on him hard.

The betrayal, the empire in ruins. How he’s at fault. How he destroyed _everything_ , killed so many people. 

The thoughts steamroll over him, completely obliterating any form of control Daud has left over his own mind. The despairing thoughts burst forth, uncontrollable and chaotic, churned out in a never-ending stream. 

Daud feels as though imaginary walls are closing on him. His own thoughts want to crush him, stab him, burn him. Hurt him in any way imaginable. Expose him to immeasurable _pain_. It’s too _much_. 

Daud opens his mouth, trying to say something, but everything gets choked up once again and he swallows it all down. No words could remotely begin to explain _anything_ , and he can’t tell Corvo all that either. It’s too personal. 

Corvo’s eyes are unwavering, firm, and something in Daud crumbles away at that. 

He knows Corvo will end up making Daud agree, and Daud will end up doing the one thing he doesn’t want to do anymore, to teach. Hopelessness starts to sink in, throbbing and excruciating at the same time. 

Daud clenches his fists. 

Billie Lurk comes to mind again. Her betrayal. 

Daud’s mind goes blank again. 

No.

_No._

Billie had been his greatest pride, his _best_ student, and she _betrayed_ him.

Very few things ever made Daud happy, teaching used to be one of them, and now he _hates_ it. 

No, he can’t do this. Daud _doesn’t_ want to teach anyone else ever again, he just _can’t_ do it. It hurts too much, after what happened with her. 

Corvo’s stare remains, brown eyes piercing, insistent, and Daud feels trapped. He owes the man a lot, definitely, but what Corvo is asking him to do is _too much_. Too personal. Too painful. 

He holds Corvo’s gaze for as long as he can endure, with a fleeting, quickly diminishing sense of hope that Corvo will drop this, that he can somehow understand-

But Corvo’s eyes remain firm, determined, and Daud finally surrenders, giving in.

“Fine. I’ll teach you.” 

Daud looks away, unwilling to let Corvo see how much it’s tearing him apart. 

“Tomorrow night, then?” 

Daud nods, now numb, and Corvo studies him for a few more seconds, before disappearing in a blue flash. 

Daud doesn’t immediately follow, and remains on the rooftop for another minute or so, trying to regain his composure. His usual calmness doesn’t return, and in its place comes a stinging dread, something he hasn’t felt since…

Billie’s face appears again, stronger this time, and Daud clenches his fists, forcing his thoughts to stop right there. 

He’s angry now – no, _furious_. 

Why is it that whenever Corvo is involved, Daud’s life seems to spiral _completely_ out of control..? 

He _hates that_. 

He hates that Corvo practically pressured him into agreeing, and he hates that he feels obliged to hold that promise. He doesn’t want to do this. _Not at all_. 

It is bringing up another horrible can of emotions Daud wants to keep screwed shut, and in some ways, it is even _worse_ than the guilt he feels from Jessamine’s death. 

It takes a while for Daud to start moving again, and when he does, all his mind can think of is the past: of his past students, of Billie, of the pride he used to feel. 

The _joy_ he used to feel.

All that is gone now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of trouble writing this one chapter. I initially posted an earlier version of it that I honestly hated, and I deleted it in the end. I'm so sorry to those of you who had to read that. *cringes* 
> 
> I'm still not entirely certain about this version (primarily the second half) - please don't hesitate to leave some feedback - but personally, I'm definitely happier with this version than the last, so I hope this version makes all of you happy too! 
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day ahead! :D


	11. A Day out with Attano (2)

Kent is happy that Corvo has finally came back. Even though Corvo is not expressive or very friendly, Kent enjoys his company, and he had admittedly missed Corvo’s quiet presence beside him, gentle, always kind.

Kent oddly doesn’t feel nervous of Corvo anymore, even though his heart still leapt a little when Kent was around him a year ago. 

It has been a little more than a year since Corvo made his appearance here in his inn, and although he only stayed for two short weeks, he has left a tangible impact on the whalers (and him). Kent’s brothers greatly respect him, and they enjoy hearing about him back in Dunwall. They actually go out of their way to get news about him back in Dunwall to excitably discuss it at night in the inn. Daud never joins in, but he’s always nearby, listening, and if Kent is a good judge of Daud, he might say that Daud is interested in Corvo as well. 

The stories vary. They talk of Corvo being kind to the citizens back in Dunwall, they talk of his ruthlessness when it comes to certain nobles, and some even talk about the tender but strict way he mentors Empress Emily in the tower. 

Hearing all those stories for months has made Kent’s respect for him grow even more, but he never thought his impression of Corvo had _drastically_ altered, until Corvo is actually _back_ , and Kent finally realises that he’s not scared of Corvo at all. He’s completely at ease around him, and his heart doesn’t even do that lurching flip when Kent sees him. Corvo notices the change almost instantly, although he doesn’t talk about it openly. 

The next morning after Corvo returns is a rest day, and when Kent wakes, he heads downstairs to make breakfast for everyone as per usual. 

Weariness is dragging his eyelids down, and Kent stifles a yawn, blinking rapidly to ease the tiredness. He is halfway down the steps when he hears voices from the kitchen. 

Kent immediately becomes alert, his heart pounding at a new, rapid pace, and he freezes, hand pressed against the wall to steady himself. 

The voices…

It is _Daud_ , and… _somebody else_. 

Kent frowns at the unfamiliar voice. 

He tentatively steps down, one step at a time, keeping very quiet, and presses himself against the wall, listening. 

“You _are_ capable right? I don’t wish to pay such a hefty sum for nothing.” The unfamiliar voice is smooth, in a Gristolian accent, with that fake pitch and timbre that Kent recognises from the nobility circle. 

“Are you _doubting_ me?” Daud growls, the deep rumble making Kent’s heart race even faster. Daud hasn’t had that tone ever since coming to Serkonos. 

“No, no, of course not. But we have to be careful in this business, as I’m sure you know.” The man fluidly replies, with only a small tremor at the start to signal his actual fear. 

Daud grunts. 

“To reiterate, we require you to be _covert_. No one can hear of this, _no one_. It took _months_ to arrange this meeting, and it is imperative that you understand what we need you to do. Who knows when the next time the damned Serkonan bastard protector will take a spontaneous _holiday_. And if _any_ word travels back to him you can forget about being paid.” 

“I am not _deaf_ , _Lord_ Inchmouth. If you question my skills one more time, you can start looking for a different _assassin_ to partake in your _business_ , although I can’t guarantee you will be leaving here in one piece.” 

Daud isn’t hiding his irritation, and it spills out in his already rough and intimidating voice. 

“Very well. We will leave it to you then. The documents and reports you need are in this envelope.” 

There is a rustling sound of papers being passed. 

“We look forward to seeing you deliver.” 

A chair drags against the floor, a screech louder than both their voices, and Kent almost jumps back in fright. 

Kent hears footsteps getting louder, closer, and Kent immediately blinks himself back upstairs – a rare use of his magic – his hands gripping the railings tightly to keep his balance. He waits, the thunderous heartbeat in his ears making it hard for him to pick up anything else. 

The door opens…and closes, and Kent counts a full minute before he makes his way back down. 

“Good morning Kent.” Daud greets when Kent appears, brown envelope tucked under his arm. 

Kent’s irritation breaks free at his nonchalant greeting. 

They have talked about this multiple times!

“By the Void, Daud! This is the _third_ time. I already told you, a warning prior would have been nice next time.” Kent grumbles, moving over to grab the food ingredients. 

He is cooking sausage for breakfast today (Daud had told him previously that Corvo likes them). 

Daud snorts dismissively and pulls out the coffee beans, tossing the envelope to the table. 

“When are you going to tell Corvo about this?” Kent says. “It’s been a while.” He adds. 

Daud has an extensive network of connections all throughout Dunwall, being the Knife of Dunwall, and some Gristolian nobles have trying to hire Daud for his services for some time now, most of them wanting to destroy the Kaldwin line and take the throne for themselves. 

It’s to be expected honestly, especially with a child empress on the throne. It’s unstable, delicate, vulnerable. 

A child ruling Dunwall does nothing to inspire confidence, Emily is simply too young and too lacking in experience. She has Corvo by her side of course, and Corvo is doing everything to support her, but there is only so much one man can do to dissuade a whole cageful of power-hungry nobles from starting a coup. 

“The longer I keep this up, the more traitors I can lure in. Take the whole lot down in one go.” 

Kent snorts, and shakes his head. 

“Whatever you say. But at least…warn me next time.” 

Daud says nothing in response, oddly quiet, no snarky remark at the tip of his tongue and Kent looks to him curiously. 

Did something happen to him? 

But Daud starts to make coffee, Kent focuses on cooking breakfast, and he forgets about it soon enough. 

When Corvo comes down to eat - right after coffee scent fills the air as usual - he finishes the whole plate. Kent is stunned at first, but his heart starts to warm the longer he stares at the empty plate. If Corvo’s eating a lot more now, it must mean that he’s feeling a lot better. 

Corvo doesn’t leave the inn to explore the streets as he does like a year ago, and he sits outside the kitchen with the cat on his lap. Kent doesn’t think too much into it, staying in the kitchen to wash the dishes. Corvo can do what he wants. (Daud is not in the inn, he had left shortly after breakfast.) 

When Kent wipes away the last rivulets of water on his arms and unfolds his sleeves to pull them back down, Corvo is standing at the doorway, grey coat on. 

“I’ll buy you lunch later.” 

Kent stares at him for a few seconds, before blushing. Was Corvo just waiting for him outside? Kent had simply thought he just…wanted to stay there. 

“Uhm, sure.” 

Corvo smiles a little, his lips tilting upwards, and he makes for the door, passing the window that was previously smashed. The window has been replaced months ago, and it looks marginally cleaner than the other panels in the inn, clearer too. 

Kent follows Corvo out after grabbing his coat. Ralph is out with his friends today, so Kent doesn’t have to take care of him as he usually does. 

As Corvo walks down the streets, Kent stays by his side, occasionally peeking up at the Royal Protector. He looks the same as he does a year ago, but more alert. His face isn’t ashen, and it has a healthier glow to it. 

“Are you on holiday again?” Kent asks. 

Corvo nods. 

“I’ll be here for a week.” He replies, and Kent dips his head when Corvo meets his eyes. 

His eyes are much more vibrant under the soft glow of the morning sun, with a tint of amber in them, very real, much different than simply imagining them in his mind whenever he thinks of Corvo. 

“You don’t have anything planned?” Kent questions. 

“No.” 

“How’s things in Dunwall?” 

Corvo doesn’t look at him, concentrating on the throng of people walking down the streets, all laughing and smiling. 

“Good. The plague has been fully eradicated.” 

“I’ve heard.” 

There is a pause. 

“Daud’s also changed a lot.” Kent suddenly tells him. He feels like Corvo should know. “He brought some street urchin children back to the inn days after you left and pushed one of them to me, a boy named Ralph.” 

That catches Corvo’s attention, and he looks to Kent. 

“How’s he, Ralph?” Corvo asks. 

“He’s…very energetic.” Kent admits, sheepishly rubbing his hair. Corvo nods in agreement. 

“He really likes you. He asks about you a lot.” Kent adds, and Corvo blinks at Kent in surprise. 

“How are other children?” 

“They’re…good, I think. I don’t see them often. But Ralph says they’re happy.” 

“That’s good.” Corvo says in a neutral tone. 

“They’re still scared of Daud though. Daud’s pretty cold to all of them still, hardly even talks to them. I think he might even go out of his way to avoid them. Ralph likes to call him ‘a big bad wolf’ sometimes,” Kent says sheepishly, before adding, “…don’t tell him I said that.” 

“He doesn’t teach them himself?” Corvo blinks in surprise. 

“No.” Kent replies. “He throws them to the other whalers.” _Like me_ , Kent feels like adding, but doesn’t. 

Kent sees Corvo pause, before looking away, sinking into deep thought. 

Another silence follows, and Kent feels like he should say something, be friendlier to Corvo, but he can’t think of anything else to say. 

They eat lunch, rice with simple vegetable stew. 

Corvo finishes all his food too, and Kent feels secretly pleased. Corvo really _is_ doing a lot better than a year before. 

After eating, Kent heads to a nearby vendor to buy a few bottles of ginger beer (Feodor’s favourite). Just as he’s finished exchanging the coins with the vendor, a middle-aged man that looks a little like Daud, he suddenly spots a familiar face among the crowd of people. 

The dark brown hair is unmistakable, pinned up to a curved head in a bun. Uniquely arched eyebrows. Plump lips coloured in rouge. And eyes of a startling shade of blue that makes her twice as lively, more energetic. 

The same eyes meet Kent, and Kent freezes. 

A mischievous smile takes over the face, and the person in question starts to move towards Kent, weaving through the crowd. 

“Oh no.” Kent mutters, stepping backwards. 

It is too late to hide. 

“Kent!” The shrill voice sounds like wind chimes, and Kent starts to panic. 

No, no no nono. _Absolutely not_. Why now of all times-

“There you are! I haven’t seen you in _days_ , I was getting worried.” 

The playful young lady saunters to Kent, sparkling blue eyes resembling ingots from the sky itself. Corvo stands by the side, not confused, but…curious. 

“H-Hi, Adrielle.” Kent greets weakly, attempting a smile. “It’s…been a while.” 

Adrielle is dressed in purple today, a colour made popular since the discovery of Tyvian Purple dye, and the particular shade she’s wearing is soft, like lilacs. 

With her vibrant blue eyes and the purple, Adrielle looks like the crystallised form of a sunset itself, a mesmerising gradient of colours spreading across the whole landscape, rare dabs of purple at the edges wherever the sun’s quickly-fading crimson glow meets the crystal blue in the sky. 

It’s a _beautiful_ combination. 

And then Adrielle starts to smile, a sly, slow smile that makes Kent look away, face warming. 

About three streets away from the inn, there is a pub, and Kent used to frequent the place a lot, dragged there by his brothers. That was how he met Adrielle, who worked there as a maid.

Even though he regularly went there, it is still a wonder that Kent even noticed her at all. Adrielle paled in comparison to the other female workers there, being slightly plumper and less curvy than them. Her features were too small for her face, and there was nothing spectacular about her body, but she drew Kent’s attention so easily and quickly, like an insect to a candle at night. 

The first thing Kent had noticed were her eyes - which was odd by itself - since the shade wasn’t even _that_ unusual. Feodor’s eyes were of the same blue after all. 

But the way Adrielle carried those eyes was levels different from Feodor. 

The way those eyes were set in her face made her come _alive_. 

It was something about the combination of her arched eyebrows and eyes, or maybe her eyes and her playful, child-like smile, or something else entirely, but it turned her whole face into a work of art. 

It made her turn from a mere street commoner into a beautiful dancer, basking under a spotlight, enrapturing the attention of all who were lucky enough to witness her radiance.

Kent was fascinated by her, but more specifically, her eyes. 

As Kent continued to visit the pub, his eyes lingered on her, on what she was doing, where her eyes were focused at. 

He saw her patient and cheerful nature when it came to serving customers, eyes bluer than anything Kent has laid his eyes on. 

He saw her getting mildly angry at a customer’s drunken behaviour, the frown on her face, the exact angle of her furrowed eyebrows, and the way her eyes seemed to darken like the clouds before a thunderstorm.

He saw the way she always tugged her sleeve down to hide a long scar on her arm that peeked out every time she stretched her arm out, fingers always so quick to pull it down.

And then he saw the teasing, merry nature that made her eyes glow exceptionally brighter than usual, a light that easily rivaled that of the sun. 

Kent could never find a word that could truly describe her, nothing could really encompass all the different angles to her personality, her ferocity, her mildness, her gentleness…nothing seemed able to describe all that. But if he was ever asked to do so, he would probably say that she was – oddly enough – a wild animal. 

She could be a curious badger, sniffing the air, pounding around with large paws fearlessly, always bold, always eager to explore. At other times, she was like a deer, speckled coat a deep hazel colour, majestic, fleeting and quick to flee, with a grace like no other. And yet other times she was more like silver-furred wolf, claws and teeth razor-sharp, armed with a piercing howl that could command even the moon to descend from the sky and do its bidding. 

Adrielle was rough, adventurous, not one to sink into the shadows, and so unlike any woman Kent had ever known. 

She hid a feral nature behind a sly smile, and she never seemed to let anything dictate how she would go about doing things. If she wanted to do it, she would, and even if she failed, she still had that teasing smile of hers that always kept Kent’s eyes on her. 

It was as though she lived her life in a completely different frequency from everyone else, and Kent admired that. He _liked_ it. 

Kent grew very interested in her, he liked seeing all the different animals she hid underneath her human skin, and the more he watched, the more his interest started to morph into something else entirely, something Kent didn’t want to examine or acknowledge at all. 

His brothers noticed of course. Kent was (and still is) very transparent. He’s a terrible liar, and he knew that. He wasn’t trained like his brothers in the art of deception. They teased him about her relentlessly. 

The relationship – if Kent chose to pursue it – just wouldn’t end well. Lord Perth scarred him, and Kent still shuddered a little when thinking about intimate touch, even if it was just holding hands. His skin crawled at the thought of another’s warmth pressed against him. 

Feodor understood that, he was always the one to stop his brothers from teasing Kent too much, changing the topic altogether before they started going overboard, and Kent was grateful to that. Feodor also always tried to encourage him gently in private, but Kent would always shake his head vehemently. 

That was until he lost that card game, and Devon made him ask Adrielle out as a dare, a punishment. 

Adrielle had been extremely surprised, but flattered, and when Kent quickly added it was just a dare, Adrielle’s smile only widened, slipping into that teasing nature of hers Kent knew all too well, with that exact smile that brightened her face several levels. 

She kept hounding Kent after that, seeking his company on rest days or waiting for him outside the clinic after the sun set. Kent kept denying any feelings towards her, all while blushing, and Adrielle seemed content just dragging him around different shops and eating absurd things by the roadside. 

Adrielle was usually teasing and mischievous, but she was understanding. She noticed his aversion to touch almost immediately. The first few times Adrielle tried to touch Kent, even if it was just on the shoulder, Kent always jerked away, roughly shoving Adrielle away in panic, before apologising when he realised what he just did. Adrielle never asked questions, but she understood. She aware of Kent’s boundaries, and she never pressured him or forced anything onto him, and Kent is thankful to her for that. 

When Daud first heard of her, his blank faced master actually chuckled, a light, short chuckle that could easily be mistaken for the clearing of a throat. But he said nothing, did nothing, although he was visibly more attentive (embarrassingly so) in their nightly game sessions whenever his brothers started gushing about Adrielle and Kent together. 

“Who’s your friend? He’s very easy on the eyes, I must say.” Adrielle’s whimsical tone makes Kent look back to her. 

Corvo blinks, but his facial expression doesn’t change one bit, and Kent wonders if the compliment just flew right past his head, or Corvo simply chose to ignore it. Knowing how frivolous the Gristolian nobles can be, Corvo probably hears people talking about his looks all the time. 

“It’s nice to meet you, whoever you are. The name’s Adrielle. Kent’s lov-”

“She’s _not_ my lover!” 

“But you were the one that asked me out first.” Adrielle pouts.

“I already _told_ you, it was just a dare, for losing a _card game_.” 

Adrielle ignores him, and grins again as she looks up at Corvo. Apart from the rouge on her lips, Adrielle isn’t wearing any other cosmetics. Her sleeves are long, even though it is a hot day, and Kent knows that it is to hide the long scar across her whole arm, a painful reminder from a factory accident. 

“I’m Corvo.” Corvo replies simply. 

Adrielle studies Corvo for a moment, before saying, 

“Silent, quiet type, huh? Tell me, has any lady caught your eye yet? Well, not _me_ hopefully, because I already have _Kent_ , but I can certainly introduce you to many-”

“Adrielle!!” Kent cuts in, horrified. “I-I’m so sorry, Corvo.” He face warms as he apologises. 

Corvo doesn’t say anything, but he has an odd expression on his face, and it takes Kent a while to realise that the odd sparkle in his eyes and the slightly raised eyebrows indicate _amusement_. 

Kent flushes even harder. 

Then Adrielle looks back, across the street towards a clothes shop. Kent briefly sees her bare neck, two soft curves sprouting down from her head, like a swan’s neck, accentuated by the small strands of hair that snake down the back of her neck, pressed to skin by a thin layer of sweat. 

Kent quickly averts his eyes when Adrielle turns back. 

“Well I’ll leave you two to it then. Marie will be worried sick if I’m gone too long.” Adrielle smiles at Corvo, before turning to Kent. “I’ll see you next week, Kent.” 

Kent’s face turns so red that he becomes the exact shade of rouge on Adrielle’s lips. 

“Wa-”

But Adrielle is already gone, bounding back towards the clothes shop like some kind of wild rabbit. 

Kent absolutely refuses to look at Corvo for a long minute, face so hot and flushed that he wants to bury himself in a hole. 

This is the absolute _worst_. 

“That wasn’t- It uh…We-” Kent struggles to even say anything, so embarrassed right now. 

A few seconds pass. 

“Please d-don’t tell anyone.” Kent says in a hushed tone. 

Corvo nods, just as a sparkle flitters across his brown eyes, gone as quick like a firework in the sky. He’s definitely _amused_ , and it only embarrasses Kent even more, as he ducks back to hide his crimson face. 

When they return back to the inn after lunch, Kent sees Corvo staring at the bookshelf beside the game table, a newly acquired addition to the inn about a month after Corvo left last year to provide more space for Daud’s absurdly large collection of books. 

“Those are all Daud’s, believe it or not. Well, actually _all_ the bookshelves belong to Daud, although he already has four whole shelves in his own room.” Kent says. 

Feodor appears from the stairs, grinning when he sees Kent. 

“He’s the Knife of Dunwall no longer, the Knife of Books instead,” Feodor says, “he builds his legacy one page at a time.” 

Kent laughs at that, while Feodor casts a few anxious glances towards Corvo’s form to make sure the man isn’t offended. Corvo doesn’t visibly react to the joke. 

Corvo pulls out one particular book, staring at its cover. Kent peers over, and sees that it is a book about Karnaca, about its urban geography. 

Feodor comes closer, standing beside Kent. If this was a year ago, he would have long darted away back upstairs to his room. 

Kent can’t help but smile. Ever since Corvo returned, Feodor has been trying exceptionally hard to be able to talk to Corvo on friendlier terms. In fact, in the year that Corvo was in Dunwall, Feodor was one of the most dedicated whaler in gathering stories about Corvo. When Kent asked Feodor once what he thought of Corvo, Feodor just looked away, hand pressed to the place where he’d been shot, and said “he’s…nice”. 

Corvo notices the change, of course he does. He never ignores Feodor when the man tries to talk to him, and he’s always gentle towards Feodor, all silent encouragement. 

Corvo starts flipping through the book. 

“Daud reads strange things. Five months ago he was reading everything and anything about – believe it or not - _sausages_ , and just last month he started reading of Karnaca’s history, economics, natural philosophy-” 

A sound of the clearing a throat interrupts Feodor. 

Kent turns around, and sees none other than Daud at the doorway, dressed in his usual shade of red, very unimpressed. 

“Oh, welcome back, Daud.” Feodor greets, a sheepish smile on his face. 

Corvo doesn’t even react, still flipping the pages, terribly unconcerned. The Royal Protector probably already knew Daud was there. 

Kent then notices Daud narrowing his eyes at Corvo, a frown etching its way onto his face. 

Daud’s possessiveness over his books rivals that of a jealous lover, and he _hates_ anyone who touches them without asking him first, even the guests that come stay at the inn.

He also gets rather grumpy whenever he sees the cat sleeping on his bookshelves (which is a common occurrence since the shelves are heated to a pleasant warmth in the afternoons), because it leaves fur all over his precious books. But Daud has an aversion to the cat, he simply refuses to go anywhere near her, so he usually ends up glaring at her impotently, as though wishing his gaze could burn her to crisp. 

Daud’s frown deepens, eyebrows furrowing. He then huffs, looks away, and heads back upstairs, footsteps silent against the typically creaky floorboards.

When Kent hears Daud’s door close three floors up, just the barest ‘click’, Corvo suddenly states,

“He doesn’t like me touching his books.” 

Kent blinks at him, surprised that Corvo has so accurately recognised that in a couple of seconds without having even _looked_ at Daud when the man came in. 

“It’s not you though. He doesn’t let _anyone_ near his books.” Feodor says, grouchier than usual. (Feodor is banned from touching any of the bookshelves ever since Daud found out he’d accidentally knocked one over.)

Corvo continues flipping the book, eyes moving back and forth the lines, reading. 

A minute passes. 

“Can I borrow this?” Corvo’s brown eyes fall onto Kent. 

“Why…are you asking me? That’s _Daud’s_.” Kent asks, confused.

“He lets you use the bookshelves. Your anatomy books are here.” Corvo gestures towards the bookshelf. 

Kent blinks once. 

It _is_ true. He’s the only exception when it comes to Daud’s bookshelves, only because they have an agreement about the books. Daud agrees to allow Kent a space on his bookshelves and access to his library as he desires if Kent will lend Daud his anatomy and herbal books, which are crammed full with annotations and additional notes. 

Corvo is still staring at him, soft brown eyes blinking slowly, and Kent nods after a minute. 

Corvo smiles and thanks him, taking the book up with him back to his room, all while being followed by a jubilant black cat.

\----------

The next day, Kent wakes up early, and prepares breakfast much earlier than usual. Daud is not there when he wakes, which is unusual, but Kent shakes it off and goes to take the coffee beans himself.

When Daud lumbers down, he pauses, staring at the calendar hanging by the side of the wall. 

Today is the 21st Day of the Month of Harvest, and it is circled crudely a few times in red ink. 

Daud looks up at Kent. 

“It’s Zachary’s birthday today.” He says, and Kent nods, smiling. 

It is a mystery how Daud knows each of their birthdays, but Kent doesn’t question it. 

Kent has decided to open the clinic later today because of the occasion, wanting to spend the extra time after breakfast baking cake for the evening when all the whalers return to celebrate Zachary’s birthday. 

Everyone loves Kent's birthday cakes (especially Feodor. He has rather childish tastes for an ex-assassin. He takes his coffee with milk and a ridiculous amount of honey.)

After breakfast is done, Ralph and the other children are tasked by Kent to buy the extra sugar he needs for the cream frosting, and the children march out with the money, chests puffed out with pride ready to carry out their "important" mission of the day.

Corvo stays in the inn too, curious, and he lingers in the kitchen, observing Kent bake. 

Daud doesn’t have anything to do either, and he’s so bored that he actually offers to help Kent, to which Kent nods. He makes sure Daud stays far away from the sugar though, because the last time Daud tried to help, it turned into a horrible disaster. Daud had mixed up the salt and sugar, and he made Kent swear later to never make his embarrassing failure known to the whalers, a promise that Kent has kept up till today. 

Corvo is in the middle of the room, leaning on the counter, knuckles tapping lighting against the smooth surface, watching Kent retrieve the empty bowls and ingredients. Kent pays him no attention, grabbing a spatula and his measuring cups.

It is odd, to see Corvo and Daud willingly stay in the same room together, no animosity whatsoever, and it makes Kent silently wonder if they have made peace with each other. Kent thinks, and frowns. Probably not yet. 

He cracks the eggs in one bowl, and he looks up, scanning the room for the flour. 

Where is the-

The huge brown bag of flour lies across the room, and Kent looks towards Daud, red coat draped over him. 

"Daud, could you bring the flour?"

Daud grunts in response, and Kent sees him look at the flour bag all the way across the room, frowns a little, before raising his left hand, mark glowing. 

A green tendril shoots out, circling the large flour bag.

Kent himself didn't manage to inherit Daud's 'pull' ability, so he's always in awe whenever he sees the magic in action.

With a clench and a pull, the massive bag comes hurling towards Daud, across the room in a graceful arc, as though it weighed of nothing. 

It is travelling halfway through its trajectory, at its highest peak when-

It tilts…and overturns.

The folded edges at the top of the bag flatten out under the weight of the flour, and the white powder tumbles out…

…Right over Corvo, who has been innocently minding his own business at the counter. 

The Royal Protector freezes, blinks a few times at the sudden rain of flour on him, stoic face momentarily vanishing to make way for a look of pure shock. 

Kent freezes as the cloud of white slowly clears, dust settling on every tangible surface in the kitchen. 

Corvo’s whole face, head and even his shoes are now white, and the floor has small mountains of flour, like fresh snow. 

Corvo tilts to the side and shoots Daud a look, something that is in the middle of thinly veiled irritation and exasperation. 

Daud opens his mouth. 

"It was an accide-"

Daud doesn't get to finish his sentence, because Corvo raises his left hand, mark flaring. With a whoosh, a violent blast of wind is sent towards Daud, piles of flour on the floor whipped up and sent flying towards him in a swirling vortex.

There is a stunned silence.

Daud is now similarly white. 

His face, his hair, his red coat.

Kent doesn't escape the sudden blast either. He's covered in flour too, but as he looks towards the two men drenched in flour, laughter starts bubbling up from his chest.

He tries to stifle it, but when he sees Daud narrow his eyes at Corvo, looking positively displeased at his spontaneous flour bath, a snigger escapes.

Daud immediately glares at Kent, a look of pure betrayal on his face. In any other occasion, Kent would have immediately ducked away, shutting up, but right now, when Daud is covered in white, when his eyebrows are dusted in white, when even his lips are white, Kent just can’t take him seriously. 

Kent bites his lip. 

_He looks ridiculous._

And then Kent bursts out laughing, shoulders jerking up and down in his giggles.

When Kent looks at Corvo, he can see the amused shine in his eyes, gone like a butterfly, and his lips quirk upwards in a small smile.

Kent can't stop laughing at the absurdity of the situation, and Daud stomps over to him throwing a palmful of flour at his face in revenge. 

A petty move, and laughter continues to wreck Kent’s body, until his stomach hurts and he's shaking uncontrollably.

Daud glowers at him for a good minute before storming out of the kitchen to clean himself up, leaving an equally hilarious trail of white behind him. 

There is a short scream, and a crash. 

"Ah! There's a ghos- oh it's just you, Daud." 

Kent recognises Feodor's voice resounding from the stairs, and he just laughs even harder, tears rolling out. 

He does calm down eventually of course, and the cake makes it out. 

Kent goes to the clinic with Ralph after that, and when he returns back home in the evening, a group of very expectant whalers are waiting, smiling, with an embarrassed Zachary in the middle of it all. 

Corvo and Daud are standing by the side, away from the crowd, both completely clean, not a speck of flour in sight, the accident in the morning all seemingly forgotten. 

They eat the cake, drink, and chat in merry laughter for a long time, and eventually, the hour grows very late. Each whaler heads back to their respective rooms to get some sleep, and all the lights go off to make way for a deep, pervasive darkness. The day finally ends and the inn quietens down, surrendering to the night, patiently awaiting for the dawn of a new day before it comes back to life once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just something interesting but: I was thinking about the attitude towards cosmetics or makeup in the Dishonored universe and...
> 
> Empress Jessamine was seen in the first scene wearing quite a fair bit of makeup. Since she's basically Dunwall royalty and everyone probably looks up to her and tries to emulate her, it can be assumed that people there embrace the usage of makeup. It's likely seen as a luxury, as only the rich female nobility (Vera Moray, Thalia Timsh) are seen wearing it, while the lower-class citizens (Callista, Cecelia, Lydia etc) don't wear any. That's quite a fascinating contrast to real life 1800s, as makeup was frowned upon then, commonly associated with lower-class women with 'weaker morals' like prostitutes. 
> 
> Well, anyway, it was just a thought (I'm not going to start a debate about makeup or beauty ideals) but if you follow that line of reasoning, Adrielle is likely a middle-class commoner. She can afford to use some form of lip rouge, but everything else is too expensive for her. 
> 
> (Also, while reading up on fashion colours in the 1800s, I read of the invention of the first aniline dye in 1856, initially coined as Tyrian Purple - today it's known as Mauveine - and I couldn't help but do the obvious...so now we have _Tyvian_ Purple. :D)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed reading :)


	12. The Lesson

Daud doesn’t look forward to teaching Corvo at all. He has been trying to occupy himself with a book for the whole day, but every time he turns a page, all he can think of is how much he’s dreading night time to come, of how much he doesn’t want to see Corvo, much less talk to him. 

It hurts – it still does – and if he could, he would still choose not to do it. 

It reminds him of Billie, of all the whalers he’d ever trained, all the times he yelled at each and every one of them, all the times he had to fight back a smile when they succeeded. 

And of course, it reminds him of the time Billie betrayed him. 

Sent Overseers into their backyard. His men dead. The place coloured in the same colour as Billie’s coat, _Daud’s_ coat. 

The ultimate culmination of all his _failures_ reflected in Billie’s dark eyes. 

Daud tries to shake the thought away, although the scent of blood seems to linger wherever he goes, all the way till night time, when the inn goes dark and Corvo is waiting for him outside, mark flashing. 

Daud puts down his book, throat dry, and takes a deep breath, trying to will that tightly coiled tension in his stomach away. 

He exhales.

He’s had the whole day to try to prepare himself, but when the time finally arrives, Daud feels just as raw and unprepared as he had been a day before. 

He pulls his window open, briefly grabs a few vials of Addermire solution, and steps out to meet Corvo. 

Tonight is darker than the other nights. The stars are blanketed, and the moon's usually iridescent glow is hidden under the billows of thick clouds, throwing most of Serkonos in grey shadows.

Corvo looks at Daud expectantly as he materialises from ashes, mark flickering away. 

The first thing he needs to do is to test Corvo’s latent magic ability. 

It used to be one of the first things he did with any new whaler. It allowed him to know their limits. It let him know when he could push them, and the type of training routine that would best suit them. 

Daud…used to enjoy being creative with his lessons. 

_He used to like teaching_. 

He was good at it, and he secretly held so much pride for it. 

Until…

Imaginary binds start to constrict around Daud’s chest, and he quickly shakes the heavy thought away. 

_He has to concentrate._

From the years of studying magic and his own personal experience, Daud knows each person has varying levels of magical ability hidden inside them, naturally sewn into their veins. Normally, a person can’t access it, save a select few sorcerers and witches in a generation that are somehow innately attuned to it, able to use that hidden energy at will. 

The Outsider’s mark allows one to access that magic more easily. It acts as a channel, a funnel, something that allows the marked to draw that secret energy from hidden pockets in the body and cast it out, bending the laws of the world itself, allowing them to transverse between spaces, to bend time, to summon a deadly blast of wind. It is as though the mark _unlocks_ something in their body, making them inhuman, something unnatural. 

Daud knows that the spiritual energy is linked to bodily well-being, as expending it causes fatigue, pain, exhaustion, but at its core, Daud still has no idea what it actually is. 

The concept remains as mysterious as the Outsider himself, and Daud knows better than to delve into it. Things related to the Void are _meant_ to remain a mystery, not for human comprehension. It is dangerous to even try to understand it. 

Daud breathes out once. 

"Have you tested your stamina before?"

Corvo looks at him, shakes his head.

Daud thought so. 

As the Royal Protector, Corvo has a reputation to uphold, one that clearly doesn't include being a blasphemous heretic. He likely uses his magic powers sparingly, as a last resort. 

"Then do it." Daud says in a gruff tone, trying not to think of the time this very same situation happened in the past, with numerous students, each with slightly varying responses. 

Corvo turns back to face the cluster of greyed buildings from the rooftop, raising his left hand. 

Daud follows Corvo as he takes his own path across the rooftops, jumping and blinking with a familiar ease that makes Daud rather impressed. For somebody that uses his magic so rarely, Corvo wields it as though he’d been doing so for years, as natural as a bird is to flying. 

Billie was much clumsier than Corvo when she first started, much younger too. Feodor was even worse than Billie when he first started, with a disgusting amount of enthusiasm that irked Daud. Devon was surprisingly good and Zachary was- 

Daud immediately shakes his head, quelling those insufferable thoughts. 

Corvo starts to slow within about five minutes of continuous blinking, and Daud can make out the sheen of sweat laced on his neck, the small rise and fall of his shoulders in tiny pants. 

At the ten minute mark, Corvo is visibly tired, and he’s not trying to hide the fact anymore. His hair is drenched, and he is panting much more obviously, breaths filling the soft silence in the air. 

Daud knows Corvo’s reaching his limit, and Daud starts to watch him more carefully, paying attention to his shoulders and feet, waiting for the very moment he goes _over_ his limit.

Corvo nearly misses a blink later, and Daud almost had to rush over to push him up the rooftop, but Corvo gets back up determinedly, forcing his mark to flare even though his left arm is probably throbbing with waves of chilling hot pain. 

Another blink, and Corvo crumples to the rooftop, panting heavily. Only one knee is bent, and Daud watches the Royal Protector grit his teeth and push himself back up, summoning enough willpower for a final blink. 

Corvo’s mark flickers, burns, and Corvo appears on the next rooftop, staggering, right foot crashing into the roof tiles noisily. Corvo pauses, and Daud immediately recognises the exact strain in his face, the exact way his shoulder tenses. 

Daud blinks over when Corvo collapses over, easily catching him before he can hit the ground. 

Corvo’s weight is immense, his body very warm, and Daud lowers him to the ground, allowing the man to pant freely and catch his breath. 

Daud remembers the first time Billie collapsed over from exhaustion. 

He didn’t catch her then, and he had felt mildly bad afterwards when she had to nurse a terrible bruise on her head for a week. 

She tried to hide it, but when she thought Daud wasn’t watching, Billie’s face would scrunch up, and she would tenderly rub against the area, trying not to hiss. 

Seeing that, Daud went to Kent to ask for some kind of ointment or cream, and when he did so, the physician shot him a questioning look, one that quickly withered under Daud’s gaze.

The ointment was given to Billie about an hour later. 

And that was the first time she’d called him ‘old man’. 

The thought of somebody, anyone actually _teasing_ him was so ludicrous and unprecedented that Daud froze for a few seconds upon hearing that, unable to respond. But the gears in his sharp mind quickly started turning again, and he had glared at Billie, snapping at her a solid ‘no’. 

Billie didn’t listen of course, always having that stupidly sly smile of hers. She just kept repeating it, over and over, no matter how many times Daud threatened to throw her into a pool of hagfish, until Daud just gave up telling her off and the name stuck (Billie was particularly impish the day Daud actually started responding to the awful nickname). 

But Daud was never truly serious about stopping her either. Billie teasing him was something that actually _entertained_ Daud. For as long as he could remember, Daud’s demeanour, his deadly skills and gravel-like voice naturally intimidated people, and he’d gotten so used to the twitchy nervousness and careful respect that he’d come to expect it, until Billie, fearless brat as she was, actually dared to look past that and _tease_ him. 

Everyone else always had some caution behind their footsteps and words when they were around him, they were never at ease (especially Kent), and Daud found Billie’s company…refreshing. Daud liked being teased by her – he never told her that of course, he had his reputation to maintain. 

In those moments with her, when she teased him and talked about trivial things, he felt like he was treated as a fellow human being. Not the whaler’s master, not a grumpy man with a penchant for killing people. Just…a simple person. 

It was inevitable that he started to trust her then, when she was the only one among the whalers to actually see him for himself. 

And then Daud’s mind brings out the sight in the Flooded District: his men dead, Overseer sabre sticking out from their chests, lying in a pool of blood. Already cold to the touch. 

Daud’s arm trembles once, about to draw his blade, as though the sight was actually real. He clenches his fists, nails digging in. He has to _focus_. 

He has to stop this…moping. It’s infuriating, and _very_ annoying. 

Daud exhales, urging his brain to start working again. 

So Corvo lasted about fifteen minutes before dropping. It is good, much better than when Daud first started. 

Daud too is feeling the effects from depleting his magic. He can feel his body starting to heat up, the freezing burn caused from using magic is more intense than it has ever been in months, especially so down his left arm. His head is pounding as well, with the beginnings of a harsh, excruciating headache. 

Corvo will feel _much_ worse. His body is already blistering hot from a fever, his muscles are probably too numb to move, overrun by the chilling yet burning sensation flooding his veins, and his head will feel like it’s been split open and bashed in. 

Daud knows the sensation all too well, having pushed himself too hard numerous times throughout the decades. 

Daud doesn’t offer him the vial of Addermire solution immediately, continuing to watch Corvo for a few more seconds. 

“Remember that feeling. _That_ is your limit. Cross it, and you will become completely incapacitated, vulnerable. Easy to kill.” 

Corvo can’t offer him a response, too exhausted to say anything or even nod. 

Daud hands over the vial. Corvo can barely hold it up without shaking, but he manages it, downing it quickly within a few gulps, panting. Daud drinks a vial himself too. For the next few minutes, Daud stands over Corvo, who lies back down on the rooftop, still spent. After a while, Corvo’s breaths start to slow, returning back into a more regular pace, and the strain in his face gradually fades. 

Corvo eventually pushes himself back up into a sitting position and he looks up at Daud to signal that he’s feeling well enough. 

Daud starts to talk. 

“Training your body to increase your magic pool is the same as physical stamina. It requires you to keep pushing yourself, just to the edge, _not_ over, so remember your limit well. Keep tiring yourself and your body will adapt by increasing your spiritual energy. Do it once a week first, then increase until you can handle it daily.” 

Corvo nods once, getting back up on his feet, and Daud continues on. 

Corvo blinks a few more times across the dark landscape, and Daud starts to notice that Corvo relies too much on his eyes when he blinks. He always looks to the direction he wants to blink in instead of visualising it, making his movements very predictable. A common mistake even among his whalers. 

The next few hours in the night are spent trying to fix that annoying habit. 

It isn’t easy, and when Corvo misdirects a blink, almost falling off a rooftop (Daud uses his tethering to pull him back up), Daud just stares at Corvo, trying hard not to lose his temper. 

His patience is running thin, _very_ thin, and the stress in him is starting to boil, hot waves gushing through his body. Tension has already been tight before this, and now, it is near suffocating, crackling over his skin like electricity, ready to spark off from the smallest provocation. 

Corvo misdirects another blink shortly after, and Daud is once again clenching his fists hard to keep in control. 

Billie comes to mind. 

An old memory of her doing the exact same thing Corvo did is pulled out. 

Daud’s breath stops, and a surge of fury finally breaks through his fractured self-control. The stress finally explodes. 

“Are you an idiot?! That’s the third _fucking_ time you’ve failed so spectacularly!” He yells, voice ringing across the darkness, his self-control temporarily locked away. 

Corvo stares at him in surprise, eyes wide, that somehow just irritates Daud even more, and he spends the next five minutes just yelling at Corvo for all the damned mistakes he keeps making, over and over. 

When he finally stops, and regains some semblance of control back, Corvo just nods, trying again. He didn’t interrupt or argue once, and surprise overlays Daud’s anger. If their roles were reversed, Daud would have likely reduced Corvo into a bloody mess, viciously stabbed him to death multiple times already. 

Daud expected that Corvo wouldn’t tolerate Daud scolding and lecturing him of all things, after having killed his lover and basically ruined his life. Daud himself couldn’t have tolerated it. His pride wouldn’t have let him do so. Then again, he could never consider seeking help from somebody that wronged him the most, much less become their _student_. 

But it seems that Corvo is humble enough to allow it, and past all the stress Daud’s feeling, he respects that. Daud could never be like that, he’s much too prideful to allow that. 

About two hours pass into their lesson, and Daud catches himself once thinking that Corvo would have been an excellent whaler, better than _Billie_. 

He gets reminded of the exact sight of Billie pulling off her mask, Overseers tied up behind her, copper stink mixing in with the sewage. 

_Fuck._

Daud’s heart plunges, a deep melancholy and hurt blossoming from the pit of his stomach. 

His men dead. His _failure_. 

The toxic mix of emotions quickly morphs into an intense fury, overwhelming, and Daud yells at Corvo once again. 

When he composes himself minutes later, Daud is _completely done_. His self-control in shambles, he’s so annoyed, so very stressed, and he hates it. 

It’s torturous, it’s excruciating, it’s exhausting. His very soul feels as though it’s been sliced open, put back together, and sliced again, trampled over and over until his whole body is trembling with so much rage and anger that Daud wishes somebody could just gut him and kill him right there. 

It is absolutely _agonising_. 

Why did Corvo have to ask him to do this? Why couldn’t he understand? Why did he have to force Daud to _teach?!_

He’d rather do anything else!

His mind is completely engulfed in a thick pool of hatred, potent, and his thoughts start to whirl. He hates Corvo, hates the overwhelming anger within him, but mostly, he hates himself for not being in control of anything. 

He fucking _hates_ everything! 

Daud wants to hit something, to scream himself hoarse, to hurt, to _be_ hurt, to feel pain or- 

Something, _anything!_ He just wants to regain back control. He wants to chase away the loathsome fog his whole body seems locked in.

He wants to hurl that terrible weight off his shoulders, rip apart the cage his soul is snared in, to feel whole and painless for once. He wants the same weight to just crush him completely, tear his soul apart, break him to pieces, so he can be numb and unable to feel anything ever again. He doesn’t care _which_ , he just wants the pain gone! 

But he _can’t_.

He’s just trapped. Like having a knife to the neck, unable to move away or press in, unable to get any kind of relief. He can’t fight back or give up. He’s trapped. _Trapped._ Forever trapped! In a state of constant agony and suffering. 

Everything is so _hopeless_. 

And then Daud feels a sudden pressure on his shoulder. It has Daud jerking up, and he is pulled back to reality, returned back to the dark night, one so blissfully unaware of the storm inside him. 

“Follow me.” Corvo says, in the same quiet tone Daud knows all too well. 

Corvo drops off the rooftop, and Daud follows behind, his mind too numb to even conjure a coherent thought. 

Daud is brought to some secluded alley, far away from any inhabited house. Corvo stops near the end, his form barely visible under the moon’s soft glow as he twists back to face Daud. 

“Fight with me.” 

Daud blinks, still unable to respond. 

Not that Corvo waits for one. 

The Royal Protector charges out with as much ferocity as he can muster.

He’s _fast_.

Daud’s instincts don’t wait for his sluggish mind to respond, and they kick in with a rush of adrenaline, Daud swerving aside to dodge it. 

Corvo spares no time for Daud to regain his bearings, and he twists back with a punch, cutting through the cold night air like a blade. Daud lunges to the left, not fast enough, and the strike manages to graze his side. The jolt of pain that comes instantly kick-starts Daud’s mind, and his thoughts starts to flow again. 

Daud retaliates with a lower strike, angled upwards, but Corvo blocks it, their arms colliding with a solid impact. 

Corvo immediately kicks him backwards with a sharp blow to Daud’s abdomen. The pain burns, but Daud jumps back up, undeterred, and launches off his feet to slam into Corvo, all in a single fluid motion. 

Corvo is heavy, hard, but the collision throws him off, and he stumbles over, falling. Daud tries to get leverage, pinning him, but Corvo hits back with a harsh thrust, forcing Daud off with a grunt. 

The Royal Protector recovers, and he sends out a barrage of strikes in quick succession, no hesitation whatsoever. Daud counters them, heart thumping, and he returns an equally vicious series of punches and kicks, matching Corvo’s power and speed, not letting up one bit. 

Their dance is graceful but deadly, a blistering display of every bit of skill they each accumulated over years of experience, and their spontaneous scuffle continues on for a few more minutes until both are completely drenched, panting. 

Corvo drops his fighting stance and settles into a more neutral state. 

“That’s enough.” He says. 

Daud releases his stance too, finally allowing himself to feel all the aches and pains littering his body: his chest, his arms, his legs, his back. Nowhere seems to have been spared from Corvo’s ruthless assault, and his skin is burning, tender and bruised. But the pain isn’t a hindrance, it actually feels…good. 

His heart is still racing hard and fast, thumping at an intensity Daud hasn’t felt in years, and that too, feels _good_. 

The aches starts to dig in, settling, and oddly enough, Daud’s mind starts to clear with the pain, bit by bit. The terrible agony from before is completely evaporated, and Daud is once again in control of himself. 

Daud blinks a few times at that, and he looks up at Corvo, still standing, panting, and watching Daud with a certain consideration that makes Daud freeze. 

Did he just… 

Daud swallows, unable to finish the thought, and he averts his gaze. 

They return to the inn after that, and Daud doesn’t even bother shedding his sweat-soaked clothes, dropping on his bed and falling promptly asleep, completely exhausted. 

The next day, after the…incident…involving flour, Corvo goes out once more, this time with the children tagging along behind excitably (Ralph is not with them). Daud doesn’t follow him, and when Corvo returns, each of the children are holding something new in their hands. Lily and Fiona each have a book, and the other children each have some sort of toy. 

Corvo then goes back to his room with a book in hand (taken from Daud’s bookshelf without permission), and he doesn’t come out until Kent and Ralph return to celebrate Zachary’s birthday. 

Eventually, the sun sets, night comes, and it is time for the next lesson with Corvo. 

It follows a similar fashion to that from the previous night, and Corvo once again gets Daud to fight him near the end of their lesson, something that is relieving and almost…therapeutic. Fighting Corvo is very different from the other whalers. Corvo is strong, he can take whatever Daud throws at him, and Daud can just let loose everything without restraint, all his stress and anger, until he’s empty and so terribly exhausted. 

Corvo continues doing his own things throughout the day, leaving after breakfast, and when Corvo comes back in the afternoon, he takes a different book from Daud’s bookshelf back upstairs, accompanied by the cat. At night, he surprisingly joins the whalers downstairs. He doesn’t play with them, doesn’t drink either, and just sits at the side reading, cat alternating between his lap and shoulder.

Night comes, Daud finds that he doesn’t dread their nightly sessions so much anymore. Fighting Corvo at the end of it helps…and although the lessons as a whole are still stressful and painful, they are _tolerable_. 

When Daud blinks beside Corvo, he has the same expectant expression as the two nights before. Daud opens his mouth. Today’s different from the two nights. It’s not a lesson, not exactly.

"We're going to look for runes." 

Corvo's face immediately changes, into an expression Daud hasn't seen before. He's not frowning, but he's not smiling either. His eyes are clouded over, more defensive than usual. It's not his typical stoic expression, his eyebrows are in a firmer line...

"What?" Daud asks, but Corvo shakes his head, and turns away to a certain direction, presumably where the nearest rune is. Daud doesn't actually need the runes anymore; he has stopped looking for the artefacts after leaving Dunwall. But Corvo will need them if he wants to upgrade his powers. 

Daud follows Corvo as he jumps from rooftop to rooftop. Corvo's blinks have improved greatly since their first lesson. He still retains that nasty habit of relying too much on his vision to blink, but Daud can see that he’s making a genuine effort to fix it. Corvo's also more fluid and skilled in controlling his distance and accuracy, which is impressive progress for just a few nights of practice.

And then Daud notices something. Apart from the usual flare of the mark when blinking, Corvo's mark doesn't light up at all. How does he know where the runes are then? 

Daud frowns, and then Corvo inexplicably changes direction, heading down from the rooftop. 

He drops down into a roll, and steps back up, all without noise, and Daud follows him. Daud starts to hear the supernatural noise, an odd melody punctuated with soft distinct hisses. It gets louder, and louder, and Corvo finally locates it under a drain cover, wrenching it free.

The noises quieten when Corvo touches it, as though calmed by the marked's touch. Corvo pockets it and turns away, to the next rune.

Daud still cannot discern how Corvo is locating the runes, he'd assumed Corvo senses the runes the same way as him, with the itching and tugging sensation at the mark, the glow intensifying when he gets closer to a rune.

Corvo grabs another rune high up on a rooftop, and when he finds a bone charm nearby, Daud still can't figure it out, so he finally asks Corvo.

"How are you finding the runes?"

Corvo briefly looks back, eyes considering Daud. His eyes fall back to his marked hand, and when he looks back up, Daud sees a flare of anger burst out in those eyes, much more intense than a mere spark. It doesn't disappear within seconds as it usually does, and Corvo averts his gaze, clenching his fists.

"It's none of your business."

The vitriol makes Daud freeze. When Corvo talks to Daud, it is usually soft, but this time, Corvo's voice is extremely harsh, and Daud knows he's accidentally crossed some unknown line.

He drops the topic immediately.

The third rune that Corvo locates send them into the sewers, wading through the thick murky water, the bitter sour smell infused into the air, pungent and nauseating.

The last time Daud was here, knee-deep in sewage, there were gashes all over his body, as he continuously kept his void gaze on, trying to find the stupid ring Corvo keeps around his chest every day out of sentimentality. 

Corvo suddenly stops, sewage water splashing up his foot, and Daud stops as well, a few steps behind him.

"What?"

Corvo turns back to him, another new expression on his face, a frown this time.

"It's a shrine." Corvo says, voice coloured with some emotion Daud can't make out.

_Oh fuck._

Just thinking of the deity's insufferable grin and aggravatingly vague words makes Daud want to thrash the shrine out of spite.

Corvo's frown deepens, and he stares at Daud for a few seconds before making his way towards the shrine.

The shrine emerges after a left turn, in a small grimy room covered in soggy wooden floorboards.

This shrine is more well-kept. Dust doesn't cover the surface, and the wooden structure isn't worn out and close to breaking like the other shrines Daud has seen. Purple light shines down on the single rune vibrating and hissing, and Corvo goes in, finger dragging across the rune.

Before he can swipe it off, black shadows descend down, diminishing the purple light into a faint glow. The empty smell of the Void blows away the stench of sewage, and the temperature immediately drops several degrees.

The deity is leaning against the shrine, arms crossed, eyes black and endless, and Daud immediately looks away. 

For some reason, he can just never look the Outsider in the eye. There’s something horrifyingly unnerving about staring into such blackness, blacker than anything in the world. It feels like staring into an abyss, staring into the eyes of the Void itself, too powerful and alien for frail human minds to handle. It makes Daud hyper-aware of his miniscule existence in the world, in his time, and the pointlessness of his entire being, and it is just _too much_ to handle. 

The deity’s clothes are the same as always, his skin pale, speckled with black spots that glow and map strange patterns over his body, sneaking up his arm, neck, face. 

"What an interesting sight to behold." The Outsider says, his voice smooth, both sinister and gentle at the same time. His pale lips tilt upwards to form an insufferable smirk. "The killer of an empress-" Corvo stiffens when he says that. "And the protector of an empress sharing the same space, breathing the same air."

There is a 'whoosh', and the Outsider vanishes, shadowy tendrils brushing past Daud's shoulder.

The temperature drops further, echoes of odd chimes and rings in the distance, more potent and intense than any noise a rune could produce. 

"What do you hope to accomplish by doing so, my dear Corvo?"

Corvo doesn't startle when the Outsider materialises right behind him, but his arm tenses when a shadow darts pass his palm, like a caress. 

“You truly are fascinating. It is rare I see a man capable of sparing another who has done so much to ruin them. Even rarer it is to see a man spare them so consistently, and to even seek out their help.” 

Corvo tries to keep his gaze on the Outsider, but he ultimately turns away, eyes falling, his discomfort clear. Daud understands that feeling. 

"I wonder, do you seek to take advantage of his usefulness? The Knife of Dunwall's influence is strong, perhaps as strong as the crown itself. He surely has a wide array of connections you so desperately seek out. Do you intend to make use of it? I reckon you can be _very_ persuasive if you choose to.”

There is a pause. 

“Or perhaps your goals are less noble. Maybe you wish to punish him, deliver the pain no one else will give. Take revenge for the dead empress buried deep in the towers. You caress and clutch that ring of hers so tightly each night, even though you have something of hers much more… _personal_.” 

The Outsider’s smile is especially unnerving, with the barest hint of something cruel and terrifying that sucks the breath out from Daud. 

“It must frustrate you, knowing that he is unscathed, and has the luxury of peace while you are left to fix the mess he created. That justice you hold so dearly in your heart, that code of honour, how does it feel knowing it has failed you, that it cannot touch the one man who has wronged you the most?"

Corvo doesn't move an inch.

"And _you_." The Outsider turns to face Daud, eyes darker than the night itself. Daud looks away, still unable to look him in the eye. 

"I did warn you, you can't fade back into the shadows this time. There _will_ be consequences. Your story didn’t end like you wanted it to, and now, what will you do with the life Corvo has so honourably gifted you with? Did you record that audiograph out of guilt? Regret? What did you think that confession would have accomplished? Peace, or _forgiveness?_ ”

The Outsider smiles.

“But perhaps you don’t even know why yourself. Your actions confuse even yourself, and you have no more insight into why than anyone else. How curious indeed.”

A shadow swipes past his neck, chilling, making all the hairs there stand. 

“Do you teach him now with the same intent?” 

Daud freezes, immediately thinking of Billie. A knowing smirk follows, and Daud feels an abrupt rush of anger. The Outsider knows how much it hurts Daud, he knows, that fucking bastard. 

The Outsider vanishes, and the crushing weight of the Void disappears in an instant. The empty smell remains heavily infused in the air like perfume, soaking through the fibres of Daud's clothes.

For once, the smell is revolting more than appealing. 

Daud remains standing, and it takes a few heartbeats for Daud to recover, as it usually does from being exposed to such an otherworldly experience. 

Daud finally looks up. Corvo's eyes are on him, heavy, intense, full of anger and resentment bursting out, unable to be contained solely in those small orbs. 

It is the very same look as when Daud provoked Corvo a year ago, the look that _hated_ Daud's very existence, and wanted nothing but to see him painted in blood. 

Daud freezes completely, feeling a sharp bolt of fear. 

Corvo has been very neutral towards him for the past few days, helpful even, and Daud has almost gotten used to it. He has accepted the change in Corvo too quickly, desperate for _some_ sign of progress and…forgiveness perhaps. Daud may have found Corvo’s ring, may have given those children a chance for a better life, may be teaching him but…

Corvo is nowhere near forgiving him. Corvo still resents him, still hates him, and Daud’s throat goes dry. 

Can anything even come out from this? Will Corvo ever come to forgive him - no, can _Daud_ even do anything else to redeem himself? What if it’s too late, and his sins can never be erased, can never be forgotten, and Daud will have to live with that horrible weight on his shoulders until his death? 

Daud feels his fear mix with anger, submerging him in a very unpleasant sensation, like many heat brands pressed to the inside of his skin all at once. 

Corvo is very still, and Daud is convinced Corvo will attack him, punch him, stab him, give him some well-deserved punishment. 

Daud turns away, doesn't move, and just braces himself for the pain…

…that doesn't come.

Corvo brushes past Daud on his way out of the shrine, rune in hand. 

Daud surprisingly flinches at that, and it takes a full minute for his heart to calm down to its usual pace. 

Corvo continues on with the search, and when they come across the next shrine, they look at each other, turn around, and walk away from it together in silent agreement.

\----------

The next day is uneventful, and Daud stays in his room, tired from everything, going out only for short breaks and the occasional refill of coffee. He’s just so drained from everything, and he doesn’t feel like talking to anyone lest he accidentally lose his temper at them.

In the evening, Ralph returns to the inn without Kent, but Daud gives it little thought. Adrielle – Kent’s lover - sometimes goes to the clinic to drag him off on some crazy night time escapade. Daud admittedly has never met Adrielle for real, he has only seen her from the distance. Kent’s always very private and secretive about her, it embarrasses him, but Daud doesn’t want to pry either. 

After dinner, Corvo agrees to play cards with Devon, Feodor and Thomas. Once again, Daud cares little, and he heads upstairs with a book. 

Hours pass, and Daud can hear exactly when Kent returns, from the commotion that erupts downstairs. 

The ruckus doesn’t die down though, and Daud shuts his book after the noise continues over another minute. He walks back downstairs. 

His footsteps are light, calculated, and when he reaches the second floor, the muffled noises start to become clear, more distinct. 

“Are you sure you’re not lying? You’re not just saying it to hide the fact you were out with Adrielle, are you?” 

Kent makes a sound, and he says, 

“No! I mean it. It was her.” Kent stops. “I saw _Lurk_.” 

Daud instantly stops. 

“What was she doing there?” Thomas asks, his voice all serious now. 

“I…I don’t know. She came into the clinic when I was about to close.” Kent falters. 

“What…did she say?” Devon asks, tone forlorn. Billie had been one of Devon’s closest friends. 

“She asked how I was, asked about Daud, asked about…everyone.” 

Daud still can’t move from the steps, his mind in a whirl. 

_Billie Lurk_. 

The whalers are always very careful not to talk about her around him, and the outward mention sends a mix of emotions through him. 

He thinks of her short hair, her teasing smile. She was his best student. His last student. 

A _friend_.

His _failure_. 

Daud’s blood goes completely cold, as cold as the Void itself. 

“What abou- _Daud_ , it’s you.” Thomas jerks upwards, eyes fixed on Daud, still frozen on the second floor balcony. 

Daud jolts up at the sound of his name, and he looks down towards his whalers, who have all gone quiet, staring back up at him with a mixture of nervousness and concern. Corvo isn’t looking at him. 

Kent goes pale. 

“Uhm…” Kent mumbles, eyes searching Daud. 

“I don’t care.” Daud snaps out loud many seconds later with a sudden rush of fury, swivelling on his feet, and walking back upstairs. The creaking of the stairs rings in his ears, all the way back to his room. 

When he actually closes the door and has some privacy, Daud sinks into his bed, the barriers in his mind finally yielding to the relentless battering from all the terrible emotions inside him.

Only one thought reigned supreme over everything else: _Why now?_

The lessons were going fine. The lessons were actually beginning to be _tolerable_ , they were fine! 

Daud clenches his fists, and his nails dig into his flesh, muscles and tendons straining against the tight grip. 

He’s already doing his best not to think about Billie, trying not to think of anything. He’s already so exhausted and stressed all day from this, from _everything_. 

Why is she-

Daud stops. 

He can’t do this, not with Billie suddenly back in the picture. 

The betrayal, Dunwall in ruin, the exact moment he’d realised he’d _failed_ all of them. 

Daud buries his head into his hands as he thinks that, fingers tightening around his hair. It is hours before he finally pulls his hands away, and he remains seated in the exact place on his bed, numb, overcome by so many things he can’t even begin to put words to. 

When Daud sees the flash of Corvo’s mark outside his window, Daud closes his eyes for a few seconds, steeling himself and opening the window to head out. 

Daud blinks beside the Royal Protector, two vials of Addermire solution hooked to his belt. Daud isn’t facing him, but he can feel the weight of Corvo’s gaze on him, a sharp pressure on his shoulders. 

“Are you not going to see her?” 

Daud freezes, and he feels his painstakingly-constructed composure shredding apart within a single instant, the exhaustion from everything coming back in. 

“It’s not your _fucking_ problem.” Daud snaps at Corvo before he can help it, freshly angered. 

Corvo isn’t like his whalers, and he doesn’t back away when Daud uses that tone. He just blinks a few times at Daud, completely unaffected by the deadly venom perforating Daud’s voice. 

Daud turns away, and he absolutely resents the way Corvo seems to stare into his soul for the rest of the night, penetrating, and hollowing him out.


	13. The Sudden Reappearance (1)

When the next morning comes, Kent is biting on his lip as he walks down the stairs to make breakfast. It is quiet, and some part of Kent’s heart sinks when he sees that Daud isn’t in the kitchen, no bag of coffee beans in hand, gruffly greeting Kent as usual. Daud hasn’t been making coffee for a few days now, he doesn’t even attempt to converse with Kent anymore, he just seems so tired these days and Kent knows that something is troubling him, very much so. 

Kent sighs as he pulls out some bacon and a knife, slowly chopping the meat into thin slices. The mornings are usually cold and slightly dark, and the kitchen is just so quiet without Daud around, lonely sometimes. 

Kent starts to feel very guilty.

He should have known better than to talk of Lurk so openly. 

He _should have known_. 

Before Corvo first came to Serkonos, there were a few topics the whalers knew they could never talk of. 

First was Corvo. The second was _Lurk_.

Kent has never gone on missions with Daud, but from his brothers, he knew that Lurk and Daud were close. Lurk was the only one with such familiarity with Daud, talking to him fearlessly and honestly. Lurk was always the first person Daud sought an opinion from, and Lurk was the person Daud always directed the other whalers to if they needed help. 

Kent may have never really trusted her, but Daud _did_. 

And then- 

A sudden sting of pain makes him hiss and drop the knife, finger burning. Kent sees a flow of blood start oozing out from a fresh cut on his knuckle, and he quickly goes to wash it under a stream of water, biting his lip. He hurriedly wraps it up, very crudely, and slices the rest of the bacon, finger still stinging. 

Daud comes down when Kent sets the plate of sliced bacon down, his face paler, greyer than usual. He looks _exhausted_. He doesn’t greet Kent upon seeing him, and he just brushes past him into the kitchen, making Kent’s heart fall.

Daud groans out loud when he realises that the coffee isn’t made yet, and Kent quickly goes back in, heading to the coffee bag. 

“I’ll make it. Just…wait outside.” Kent makes a small smile as he wrestles with the bag, finger burning. 

Daud’s scowl hardens, the stress on his face very prominent. He opens his mouth, and Kent braces himself. He recognises the signs when Daud is about to snap, to yell, and this is one such instance. 

But Daud catches sight of Kent’s injured finger, a small white cloth wrapped around it. The wrinkle on Daud’s face softens, just slightly, and he shakes his head. 

“No, I’ll do it.” His voice is rough, with a slight remainder of his anger that was so abruptly released. 

Daud pushes Kent aside, not harshly, grunting as he pulls up the bag and proceeds to scoop out the coffee beans.

The whalers start to stroll down for breakfast as soon as the coffee scent fills the air, and when Corvo comes down, Kent sees Daud narrow his eyes, tensing. 

Kent goes to bring Corvo his food, he smiles and thanks Kent, seemingly unbothered by Daud’s heated glare from across the room.

Daud finishes his food quickly, as does Corvo, and by then, Kent has just brought his own tray out, about to eat. 

Kent pierces his piece of bacon with a fork, about to pop it in his mouth when he hears Corvo say something, too soft to make out the words. He looks up, and he sees Daud freezing, near the inn door, Corvo a few steps behind him. His brothers appear to have not noticed anything yet, still chatting with each other.

Corvo says something again, and Daud’s eyes flash, in that particular shade that instantly has Kent hardening, tensing. 

“It’s none of your _fucking_ business!” Daud all but snaps, his powerful voice thundering out in a bang. The whalers all jump (including Kent, even though he saw it coming) and they immediately fall quiet. 

Daud goes to open the door, and Corvo slips past him, holding the door back with a firm hand, speaking. 

Daud is very still now, the air terribly thick, and the whalers are all frozen, shocked, and terrified at the same time. Kent glances towards the window, the same one that Corvo threw Daud through, and his heart starts to thump wildly. What is going on..? 

“What is so difficult for you to fucking understand, Attano?!” Daud roars, more furious than anything Kent has witnessed, and Daud’s arm shoots out, lightning fast, grasping firmly onto Corvo’s collar. Kent flinches, hard. 

Daud’s temper is legendary, he’s a grenade waiting to go off, and when he does so, it is with such an explosive bang that quickly subdues anything and anyone in his way. But Corvo surprisingly doesn’t retaliate, his arms remain by his side, and he calmly says something once again. 

Daud is back-facing Kent, but even Kent can tell that Daud is absolutely livid now. He is radiating with strong killing intent, and he looks ready to tear away the whole inn with his bare hands alone. 

No, no _no_. Not again. 

Kent can’t swallow, he doesn’t even dare to breathe, and he just sits on his chair, trembling, afraid. 

“Haven’t you meddled enough already?!” Daud rams Corvo back violently, the door making a loud crack on impact, but Corvo shows no sign of pain.

All the whalers are too terrified to move, so taken aback by the sudden outburst of their master. Anyone else facing the full brunt of Daud’s anger would have withered and started sobbing on the spot, but Corvo merely returns a cool gaze, fearless, and impossibly calm. 

“Fucking Jessamine, creating the biggest scandal in centuries, haven’t you had _enough?!_ ” Daud yells, ramming Corvo back again. 

Corvo’s expression immediately changes, eyes set aflame. 

Daud is shaking, and a few moments pass in silence. Tension is high, and nobody dares to breathe. 

Suddenly, Daud’s fingers loosen, releasing Corvo’s clothes in an abrupt motion. 

“Get out of my way.” Daud says quietly, but very viciously. 

Kent sees Corvo consider Daud for a few moments, unmoving. 

Daud adds another word, too soft to make out, and Corvo narrows his eyes before stepping aside, letting Daud pass. 

Daud basically slams open the door, rattling at the edges, and he disappears past the entrance, out of Kent’s sight. 

Corvo doesn’t move for a long while, staring out, but he eventually shuffles backwards, shutting the door softly and fixing his clothes. 

Corvo then turns to see a group of wide-eyed whalers staring at him, all white and frozen. He looks unreadable, as though he was completely unaffected by what happened. 

“I apologise.” Corvo says tersely, before going back upstairs, two steps at a time. 

The whalers and Kent still dare not move, forks frozen mid-air. 

What just happened??

A minute later, Corvo steps down from the stairs with his coat, and the whalers hurriedly look away, focusing on the food. He too disappears out of the inn, in a pace that signals he’s in a hurry, and finally, the door closes with a ‘click’. 

Then Feodor finally speaks, looking towards Kent. 

“Uhm…” Feodor swallows. “What the _fuck_ just happened?” 

“He just suddenly got so...angry.” A whaler says. 

“Did you hear what they were talking about?” Devon asks. 

The whaler closest to the door shakes his head. 

“Daud’s never been this angry since…” Thomas starts, then pauses. “…Since _ever_ , actually.” 

“What the _fuck_ just happened?” Feodor drops his fork on the plate and shakes his head once. “The two of them were _fine_ with each other for the past few days, and now they suddenly start fighting again?!” 

Kent goes back to fiddling with the pieces of bacon on his plate, prodding them with his fork. As he pierces one, a small pool of grease bursts out, and Kent swallows. He thinks of how exhausted Daud had been for the past few days, the troubled look on his face. 

He has a hunch and-

 _It probably has something to do with Lurk_. 

It is the only thing that could make Daud _that_ upset. 

Kent pokes his bacon again, feeling guilty all over again. _He’s_ the one that started this all. He shouldn’t have even talked about Lurk, he should have just kept it to himself. He already knew that Lurk was a topic very personal to Daud, so why did he even decide to tell _everyone_ about it in the first place?

Corvo and Daud wouldn’t have started fighting if he hadn’t said anything, he’s sure of that. And if he hadn’t said anything, Daud wouldn’t be in such a terrible mood, he wouldn’t be so stressed. He would have been _fine_. 

Kent shoves the bacon into his mouth, chewing, and then he sighs. 

Except…Would he really? 

Was Daud even fine before this? 

Why is Corvo getting involved in this anyway? He has no reason to, and…how does he even know who Lurk is in the first place?

Kent frowns at all the unanswered questions bubbling up. There’s clearly a lot going on between the two he doesn’t know about, and while he won’t intrude into their business, he does silently wish that the two can settle it peacefully just as they did a year ago. 

Both of them have suffered a lot, and Kent’s heart aches to know that both of them are still in pain, still weighed down by everything that has happened to them both. He wants nothing more than to see the both of them to _not_ fight for once, to forget about everything that has happened and just…relax. 

But now, he’s starting to question if that’s even possible, or the two are just destined to keep clashing with each other, to remain as enemies forever. 

It’s a miserable thought.

\----------

The day Daud first met Billie was a cold one.

Daud just finished a straightforward job in the Legal District – killing three targets in one go – and was preparing to go back home. 

It was very early in the morning, a few hours before dawn. The air was chilly, and the whole city was awfully quiet. 

Daud liked it this way. By the time the bodies were found, necks slit, it would be hours later, and he would be long gone. 

Blood marred his red coat, the stench was fresh and heavily soaked in him, but he wasn’t unused to it. The thin layer of sweat on his body wasn’t uncomfortable either, cooled by the air, and Daud started to make his way back home. 

It didn’t take long for him to realise he had a tail. 

A girl, by the sound of the light footsteps. 

Daud paid it no attention. There were many that tried to learn more about the elusive Knife of Dunwall, and stalkers like her were _common_. 

Daud only quickened his pace, jumping and darting across the rooftops. He needed to conserve his powers after having expended them during the assassination, and he was confident he would lose her easily anyway. 

Except… He didn’t.

The girl was clumsy but steady, she clambered up the rooftops and hoisted herself over each time, still following Daud closely behind in the dark, hiding behind chimneys and pressing herself flat onto roof tiles. Daud considered just killing her and dumping her body on the ground just to set an example to anyone else who decided to follow him, but he quickly changed his mind when the girl made a fearless jump over the edge of the rooftop, nearly falling over but regaining her bearings at the last second. 

Daud turned sharply to the right.

He leapt off the rooftop, foot landing on a pole and promptly jumping off, landing softly on the next rooftop. 

Now, _that_ would surely throw this girl off. Daud slowed his pace after that, sharp ears ready to pick up the faintest sound. 

To his surprise, footsteps were heard seconds later, and Daud started to become curious. 

Who was this girl? 

Daud picked up his pace and continued forth, bounding across large gaps, all across Dunwall. He took a long detour, ears always on alert for the tell-tale footsteps. The girl never lost him, even though Daud thought she did a few times, and Daud was starting to get quite impressed. 

His mind was made up, and when the girl slowed some minutes later, obviously exhausted, Daud finally made for his hideout, slowing his run to a light jog. 

When Daud bent through the window of his hideout, he aimed a quick blink into the next room, mark flashing as he disappeared and reappeared from ashes. And then, he waited, all while perched on top of a bookshelf. 

The girl climbed in a few seconds later, panting, drenched in sweat. She was a small thing, very thin, hair sloppily chopped off at odd angles. Her eyes were bright, filled with curiosity, and she looked around, to the destroyed paintings hanging on the walls and the stacks of dirtied papers, chewed through by rats. 

The girl kept looking around, more curious than fearful, and Daud immediately knew that she wasn’t some girl hired by the Overseers to get information on him. She was just a slum dweller, nothing more than a simple girl. 

After a few more minutes, Daud finally dropped down from the bookshelf and crept up behind her, waiting. 

The girl immediately startled upon seeing him, flinching back a few steps, but she remained still after the initial shock, rooted to the ground.

Impressive, Daud thought. Most would turn and run off in the presence of the legendary Knife of Dunwall, but this girl stood right there, staring back at him, fearless, or perhaps reckless.

“You followed me, found this place, and now you’re not begging or running for your life.” 

The girl swallowed, bobbed her head a little. 

“There’s nowhere to run. And I’m not very attached to it to tell the truth.” 

Daud recognised the look in her eyes when she said it. The eyes that have seen the horrors in the world. Those close to despair and with nothing to live for. 

Daud used to have those eyes. 

Daud went closer; the girl didn’t recoil, didn’t even move an inch. 

Her eyes were dark, with barely a shine under the dim light, but Daud still saw the cracks in there, like a half-broken glass orb. He saw the damaged parts of her, all shadowed and hidden in swirls of darkness. The cracks would never be fixed, Daud knew that, but in those eyes, Daud saw something else. 

Something _bright_. 

Like a light in the dark. 

Something haphazardly forcing and gluing the broken pieces together back. 

He saw flame.

He saw _fire_. 

“You think you’re already dead inside, but I’ll give you something to live for.” Daud said, mind made up. “You’ll fight for me and kill people like the ones who’ve hurt you.” 

The girl had nodded without hesitation, barely shaking. 

And the rest was history.

Daud was a challenging mentor, most definitely, and he was always distant, cold. Yet, somehow, despite everything, the brash girl found ways to slip past his steely demeanour, sinking in deep with a strange warmth Daud never dreamt he could feel. 

Daud gave her his trust. She was a _friend_. She was the only one who’d ever _teased_ Daud; she was the only one he allowed to do so. 

He used to tell her, on the rooftops when time stopped existing for them as assassins and Dunwall was asleep, that they – the assassins - were like fireworks. Vibrant, bright, magnetising, drawing all attention for that split second, before fading off. They burnt _hot_ , then burnt away. 

That was the life of an assassin.

They existed for a flash, no more, no less. That was how the life went. 

He trained Billie to do the same, taught her everything he knew, and together, they laid waste to the wretched political landscape of Dunwall, pools of blood everywhere. That was what Daud dedicated himself to, to be the greatest, largest flash the world would ever see.

Until his sword was thrust into Jessamine’s body. 

Daud created a flash _too_ bright it blinded everything and threw it all into darkness. He burnt too hot, too bright, _too fast_. 

And then he discovered he didn’t want to burn no longer. 

But it was too late, much too late. The fire he started was already loose, raging on, from the rats storming into Dunwall, breaking through flesh and steel, to the innocent child he’d kidnapped, childhood ripped away, and to one innocent Royal Protector he’d framed, sent into Coldridge to be brutally tortured and hurt. 

For the first time in his whole life, there wasn’t simply “another corrupted noble” to take the dead empress’s place. 

For the first time in his whole life, the cycle of corruption he thought was at the very core of Dunwall finally backfired upon itself, and everything was crumbling away. 

As an assassin, they were bright, but the time would have to come when they inevitably _burnt away_. It was everything he had preached, the ideology he’d laid root into all his whalers, and yet, for the first time in his whole life…everything he dedicated himself to…Daud was _terrified of it_. 

He didn’t want to burn away. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to disappear, to escape, to leave this dratted life forever. He didn’t want to fulfil his destiny as an assassin. So he went with the Outsider’s puzzle, the name Delilah, in some desperate hope that something could be fixed, that something could still be _salvaged_. 

The whalers picked up on the change, especially Billie, astute as they were (Daud had trained them like that), and Daud knew that some were planning on betraying him to the Overseers for coin. He knew there were plans to usurp him. 

And in confusion, anger and cold resentment, he blew up the Rothwild slaughterhouse, so many innocent lives silenced by his hand, just to prove he was _strong_. 

It was a terrible mistake. 

He didn’t feel any stronger, certainly not, and the more Daud heard of Corvo’s mercy, the more Kent – the most innocent of them all - kept looking at him in disdain, disgust, the more Daud’s heart tore, the more he _yearned_. 

He stopped killing. Or _tried_ to. 

He never realised how difficult it would be to still his sword, after having spent decades of using it. If he could kill so many in a single blink of an eye, surely choking them out and sparing them would be no different. He thought himself more skilled than he actually was, and he paid for that arrogance dearly with a long slash down his arm while trying to taking care of Timsh.

And then the fateful day came when Daud saw the Overseers raiding his hideout, his men dead, betrayed by one of his own. 

With the bloody stink in the air and the Abbey’s logo defiling every inch of his home, some part of his wretched mind actually _laughed_. It was retribution delivered to him on a plate. The consequences the Outsider warned him of was biting back, now twice as vicious. 

Why did he think he could change anything? He’s already sunk too deep, and everything he did now was for naught. Dunwall was now a wasteland, charred to blackness by Daud’s own hand. There’s nothing left to fix, nothing left to _save_. 

It was too late for Daud. He’s a monster, and there’s only _one way_ monsters would meet their end. 

He ordered the Overseers to be captured, and when Billie pulled off her mask and revealed her betrayal, dark-skinned, choppy hair, still the same girl he knew, Daud didn’t even flinch. His heart didn’t even sink as much as he thought it would have. 

He must have known deep inside that it would be her, it would only be her, but he only didn’t want to see it or believe it until it was actually true, until the sight of her unmasked face slammed into him as hard as a train crash, because what he’d secretly known was finally solidified into reality. 

But it still hurt, of course it did. When Billie showed her face, Daud had felt a burning pain, all-encompassing, all-consuming, as though the fire he saw all those years ago in Billie’s eyes broke free and latched on to him, unable to be extinguished, greedily burning every inch of his body. 

_Why_ was the next thing that came to mind. 

He had raised her, gave her purpose, gave her a life, _trusted_ her and she repaid that by betrayal! 

And then one part of Daud’s mind cruelly pointed out, that Daud had been in Billie’s shoes multiple times. He shouldn’t have been surprised. He had betrayed countless people, but he never even considered how much it’d have hurt. Not until it happened to _him._

Funny how life worked that way. 

Then Billie offered her sword, giving her life to Daud.

But Daud already knew he wouldn’t kill her. 

How could he bear to kill the one person he’d trusted and joked with? How could he blame Billie for betraying him when she was just following the same things Daud taught? 

He saw the same fear of death in Billie’s eyes, the same desperate desire for a new life. 

He saw himself in Billie, at the very exact moment when he killed Jessamine and realised it was a mistake. 

Daud’s heart broke. 

And then there was a sharp realisation, more painful and excruciating than anything else Daud had felt. 

_He_ was the one that taught the whalers to kill. He was the one who taught them to hurt, to lie, to cheat, to _betray_. He was the one that led to this very moment. He took so much pride in his teaching, and he’d never realised what he had been doing. 

He was raising so many people to become just like _him_. 

He was teaching so many of them to follow Daud’s own footsteps, to create too big a flash – like Daud killing Jessamine, like Billie betraying him – before they realised it was all _wrong_. He was leading _all of them_ down this treacherous path, to feel all the agony and guilt he was feeling right now. 

Daud’s throat turned dry. 

He didn’t just destroy his own life. 

He destroyed Billie’s. He destroyed Feodor’s, Kent’s, Devon’s, Zachary’s, and every other whaler that gave him their hand when he asked them to follow him. 

He actually _taught_ them to destroy themselves. 

His whole life, everything he did, all the teaching he _enjoyed_ , he’d been hurting so many people. He’d been destroying so many people. The whalers all entrusted themselves to him, and Daud destroyed them all. 

_He had failed all of them._

The agonising realisation shattered the last bit of hope inside Daud, and the true magnitude of his failure toppled over on him, sharp blades and heat brands so eager to feast on his broken soul. He was a _monster_. 

Daud ended up sparing Billie, but he was no longer the same after that. There were just so few things he ever held dear to himself in his whole life, it had taken so much effort and time to get there, but now, it was all cruelly snatched away and smashed to pieces, his fragile trust in people and the world burnt to ashes. Actually living each day since then became agonising, and his whole life felt like a foggy nightmare he couldn’t wake up from.

So he never taught again after that. His failure was sunk deep into his soul, and he couldn’t bear to do it anymore. It hurt too much. 

And he’d thought he would never need to see Billie again. He would never have to remember how badly, how tragically he’d failed. 

But now-

 _Billie is back_. 

Daud doesn’t know what to think. With the news that Billie is indeed _here_ , well and alive, suddenly her presence has regained that real, tangible touch once more. Suddenly Daud can’t just imagine a picture of her gone and on board a ship. 

She is _real_ again, but her betrayal still is _not_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter became way longer than I expected, and I decided to split it into two. I felt it worked better this way.


	14. The Sudden Reappearance (2)

Daud sighs, while seated on a rooftop sweltering under the hot Serkonan sun. It had taken him hours to calm down after his latest outburst this morning, and Daud had been on the rooftop ever since, coiled into himself like some kind of wounded animal, too tired to be angry, and too tired to do anything. 

Recalling his failure is just making him even more miserable, raw, _hurt_ , and long buried questions start to resurface once again.

Why didn’t Corvo just kill him? Why did Corvo spare him? 

Daud’s _clearly_ a monster. He killed _Jessamine_ , and he’s the one that got Corvo – gentle as he is – sent into Coldridge to be tortured, hurt all over. He’s killed so many people, and whoever he didn’t kill, he destroyed.

He’s a monster and there’s no hope left for him. Daud is so foolish to even dare hope for repentance. 

Daud sighs again, a long, deep sigh that resonates with all his despair and pain, and one that is quickly lost under the mindless chatter of the citizens walking up and down below him. 

He remains on the rooftop for the rest of the day, miserable and tired, and when Daud finally returns back to the inn, he declines dinner and goes back to his room, trying to ignore the way Kent looks at him with a melancholic and guilty expression. 

Daud closes the door, about to take out a book to read when he notices a note lying on his table. 

The windows are still latched, and Daud usually keeps his door locked, so he knows that there’s only one person who would sneak in like this, just like he did a year ago when he left some payment in Daud’s treasury (Outsider knows _why_ ). 

Daud thinks of what Corvo said in the morning. 

Telling him to go see Billie, to meet her, _talk_ to her. 

There is a flash of fury, and Daud starts crumpling the note without even reading it, about to toss it aside. But the anger quickly fades, Daud is simply too tired to house that amount of rage in him, and he gives the note a quick glance. 

…What does Corvo want now? 

Corvo’s cursive handwriting is very neat, in unbelievably straight lines and thin strokes. There is barely a line on the piece of parchment, with only a location and time written on it.

Daud frowns. Why does Corvo want to meet at such an odd hour? 

But Daud is too exhausted to think, and he tosses the note aside, taking out a book from his shelf. He needs something to distract him from everything that is going on. 

The hours pass very slowly, dragging into the early morning, when the air is chilly and quiet, and when the hour eventually comes, Daud opens his window to head to the specified location on Corvo’s note. 

The journey there is quiet, and Daud would have usually enjoyed the solitude if not for the terrible weight in his chest. 

He’s nearing the place when he spots a dark figure on a nearby rooftop, form illuminated under the moonlight.

Daud blinks closer, about to demand an explanation from the Royal Protector when- 

He realises that the person is _not_ Corvo. 

The person is smaller, shorter, and it is- 

Daud freezes, just as the figure turns around to face him. 

“Daud..?” 

Billie looks the same as ever, dark-skinned, lithe, the same height. Her hair is chopped short, in jagged, sloppy lines, still the same as always. 

She looks just as she did when Daud last saw her more than two years ago. 

The only thing different is her clothes. The familiar red coat is nowhere in her possession. She is dressed in clothes Daud sees all the time on the Serkonan streets. Simple clothes, nothing vibrant. 

Daud sees surprise and dread light up on Billie’s face, the same things Billie sees on him, surely. 

A long minute passes in silence. 

“Serkonos seems nice.” Billie says, looking out into the night sky. Today is cloudless, once again. In Dunwall, the sky is more than often clouded over, few stars shining. Here in Serkonos, the view is magnificent. Stars dot every corner of the sky, heavenly gemstones glittering in minutely different shades. 

“It is.” Daud agrees. The words come out thick. 

“How are they? Thomas, Kent, Devon…Feodor…” 

Daud doesn’t miss the sudden crack in Billie’s expression, a sense of longing reflected in her eyes. 

“They’re…good. Kent has a clinic. Feodor and Devon work as guardsmen. Thomas takes on three different jobs.” 

A snort follows. 

“Thomas, still insufferably the same as ever.” 

The crack in Billie’s face grows bigger, and Daud doesn’t know what to think, what to say. 

A silence. He remembers the first time he ever met her, she was so young then.

“I work on a trading ship now. We’re stopping at Serkonos for a few days, we’re leaving at dawn today.” 

Their eyes meet, and Daud sees the same cracks in her eyes as he had many years ago when he first met her. The scars, the unhealed wounds, they are all there. That _fire_ is still there too, glazing over Billie’s eyes, glowing like molten metal, but so much more ferocious, fiercer than anything he had seen years ago. 

“So Attano spared you.” Billie breaks the silence with a soft snort. 

“He did.” Daud says quietly. 

“He came looking for me just now, told me to come here. Didn’t say why.” 

Daud frowns a little. Why would Corvo do that..? 

“He left me a note, telling me the same thing.” 

“He’s a strange one.” Billie murmurs. “Quiet, oddly gentle. I never expected that.” 

Daud makes a sound in agreement. 

Another silence passes, a melancholic one. He remembers the first time Billie called him an ‘old man’, and how he slowly grew to actually _like_ that. 

“I guess…we both goth our wish.” 

Daud doesn’t say a thing. They both know what the wish was: _a new life_. 

“But I’m glad.” Billie says, her tone soft, nearly a whisper. “I’m glad it wasn’t just me that got that chance.” 

Daud wishes he could tell her that she can come back, that Kent, Feodor, Thomas, everyone would welcome her. _He_ wouldn’t mind. But, he knew Billie wouldn’t say yes. Just as Daud won’t return to Dunwall, Billie won’t return to the whalers. 

As he looks into Billie’s eyes once more, he sees that desire reflected there. He can still see fresh cracks in her glassy eyes formed from the betrayal, the same cracks that are no doubt in Daud’s own eyes as well. He can see how badly she wants to go back. 

Billie looks down, sombre, before she says, 

“I had a lot of time to think things through, and I wanted you to know…I don’t blame you for anything, for teaching us the way you did. I don’t think _any_ of us do. All of us _chose_ to follow you, and you don’t get to take the blame for that.” 

Billie sighs. 

“ _I know you_ , and I thought you’d feel-”

Daud’s throat goes dry, and Billie sighs yet again, trying to compose herself. 

“…You didn’t fail any of us either.” Billie says carefully, each word coming out slow. “You saved all of us from lives not worth living. Kent, Feodor, Zachary, Thomas, Devon… _me_ , you saved all of us. You could have just abandoned us, worked on your own – you always worked better by yourself anyway – but you still chose to take us in, teach us.” 

Billie takes a breath. Her eyes look so bright, like liquid. 

“You didn’t fail us, Daud.” She repeats. “You gave us a _family_ , I don’t permit you to call that a failure.” 

Something snaps in Daud, and he chokes on the sudden swell of emotion rising up from his chest. 

He swallows, multiple times, but no words come, and another silence returns, dragging into hours until Billie gets back up, speaking, 

“I should go. They’ll be expecting me.” 

Instead of ‘goodbye’, Daud says, 

“Good luck.” 

Billie looks back, her eyes flaring bright, and for that moment, she suddenly looks ten years younger than she is, calling Daud ‘an old man’ for the first time. 

Something in Daud completely crumbles apart. 

He remembers feeling pride when Billie made her first kill, how he actually smiled when Billie came back triumphant. 

_If only things were different_ \- 

He remembers the numerous nights they spent on a rooftop, watching over some noble in their home. 

If Daud learnt his mistake earlier, if he didn’t kill the empress…

He remembers waking up to many mornings to see bone charms and runes strewn over his table, gifts found from secluded places in the streets and left there by an enthusiastic young girl, eager for praise. 

_If only none of that happened. If things were different_ -

His throat closes at the thought, imaginary binds constricting around his chest. A sharp pain strikes his heart, hot and agonising. 

He remembers the rare mornings that he had breakfast on the rooftops, an amber glow illuminating Dunwall’s grey skies for those few short minutes. The river stunk of the dead, but as he sat beside Billie talking, be it about their daily routines or about their past missions together, Daud could forget that he was ever an assassin. He could forget about the unfairness of the world and the cruelty of Dunwall. He could step down from his mantle as the whalers’ leader, and be a simple _person_ for once, to be teased and talked to like any ordinary person. 

They could sit together as _friends_. 

_And they can’t go back to that anymore_. 

That realisation is a vicious punch to the face, and it makes his lungs freeze up.

If only he didn’t become an assassin- 

All the pain that Daud has kept inside for more than two years finally spill out, the anger, the sadness, the guilt, regret, his failure, _everything_...just _explodes out_ , expanding within him with a sharp rush of heat and electricity, liquefying his whole body. But just as quickly as the feeling seizes his body, it trickles away, leaving a residual ache that hurts as much as a stab to the heart. 

_They can’t go back to that anymore_.

The betrayal has left cracks in both of them, and they _can’t_ return to those days anymore. 

They can’t sit on rooftops and joke with each other anymore. She can’t tease him like she used to, and they can’t go back to being the same friends they had been. 

_Nothing is the same. Everything has changed_.

He steps forth. 

And then his arms are around Billie, pulling her small frame close. Billie follows suit, and neither of them say a single word. 

She’s much smaller than Daud had thought. She’s warmer, alive, and… _happy_. She’s not the same assassin as before. Whatever cold composure Daud instilled in her is gone, and Daud feels an intense gush of relief at that. 

Billie pulls back first, and she walks over to the edge of the rooftop. 

Daud opens his mouth. 

“If-” He starts, and Billie looks back, blinking slowly. “-you don’t become the ship captain by the end of the year, I’ll come out of retirement to assassinate your disgraceful ass.” 

Billie gives a short, hoarse laugh, and then she smirks, lips quirking upwards. The same smirk Daud knows and remembers all too well. 

“Of course, _old man_.” She returns teasingly, just as she used to say, and then she disappears off the edge, away from Daud’s vision, footsteps fading away. 

Daud waits until the last trace of Billie finally disappears before heading back to the inn. 

There is a thick swamp of emotions in his heart as he heads back, bittersweet and warm.

When Daud enters the inn, Kent has already prepared breakfast, some bread and soup, and some of the whalers (and Corvo) are already eating breakfast. 

Their cheerful chatter is a big contrast to the melancholy still deeply steeped into his body, and Daud recalls what Billie said. _A family_. A lump forms in Daud’s throat, not a purely unpleasant one. 

Corvo glances over casually when Daud appears; he’s always the first to notice Daud coming in. His brown eyes study Daud for a second before looking away, back to the coffee mug clutched in his hands. 

That irks Daud somehow, and he suddenly remembers that he’d been manipulated by Corvo _once again_. That bastard. Daud waits for the sudden rush of irritation he knows is coming…except it doesn’t. His skin doesn’t even prickle once. 

He’s not…angry at Corvo. What he did, getting Daud to meet Billie, it _fixed_ something inside him. 

It chased away the shadows that he has been fighting back for days, years. The failure plaguing Daud all day suddenly doesn’t seem so heavy anymore, not when Billie’s words are still fresh in his mind, and the storm within him feels like it has finally ended, after decades of constant thunderstorms. 

He’s…at peace, Daud realises sharply, and it is because he’s finally gotten some _closure_ , something he didn’t even know needed until it actually happened.

And it is _Corvo_ that understood that. 

He is the one who spared Daud in the first place. He is the one who saw _something_ in Daud, something that made him worth sparing. He is the one that saw _hope_ for Daud, even though Daud saw no hope for the monster he saw as himself. 

He is the one _helping_ Daud all along. 

But _why?_

It should have been the other way round; Daud is the one who owes him everything after all. He’s the one that should be doing everything to help Corvo. 

And Daud goes back to his room to pull out a thick brown envelope from his drawer. 

The same brown envelope Lord Inchmouth had given to him days ago. Filled with blackmail material, names…all incriminating information. He has a few more similar envelopes from other nobles, tucked away in other drawers. 

Corvo is due to return back to Dunwall very soon - tomorrow actually - and Daud initially planned to just sneak the envelopes into his bag before he left, just like he snuck an audiograph last year. 

Then Daud thinks of how much Corvo has been trying to _help_ Daud, how Daud actually yelled and attacked Corvo for trying to do so, and then, the Outsider’s words from before come to mind. 

_“The Knife of Dunwall's influence is strong, perhaps as strong as the crown itself. He surely has a wide array of connections you so desperately seek out.”_

The implication is clear. 

Daud thinks about it for a long time, before grabbing a pen and some clean parchment paper. 

He starts to write.

\----------

Corvo is sitting in his room, reading, although he’s not exactly focused on the task. The words are running through his mind, but their meaning do not sink in.

Instead, he’s thinking of something else. 

Of _Daud_ , and his past second-in-command, Billie Lurk. 

Corvo knows very little of her, even after Daud’s audiograph and short mentions by Kent. 

But he does know that this woman, Billie Lurk, is somebody quite close to Daud, and quite possibly the reason why Daud had stopped teaching in the first place. 

It was easy to figure that out, especially when Daud’s mood visibly worsened after he heard of her reappearance. The ex-assassin tried to hide it, pretended she meant nothing to him, but Corvo knew better. He knew that the more vehemently Daud tried to push it away, the more she actually mattered to him.

Corvo can relate to the situation, he himself is very familiar with betrayal. He knows how much it hurts, and Corvo understands Daud’s pain, even though Corvo admittedly still dislikes the man. 

When he’d first asked Daud to teach, Corvo never imagined that he was treading into a very private territory of Daud’s, certainly not. But he didn’t know that at the time, and Corvo did feel a little offended when Daud first rejected him then. And while Corvo felt quite vicious pressuring Daud to agree later, he never once felt a shred of guilt, thinking Daud deserved it. 

That was until Kent mentioned to him casually that Daud doesn’t teach the children.

Corvo realised in that moment that there was a lot more to the story than a simple rejection, and his suspicion was further confirmed during their first lesson together, when Corvo noticed Daud being so agitated and upset. 

Daud clearly had… _something_ …against teaching, something deep enough to make him completely lose control over himself. Corvo knew that Daud was genuinely trying his best to teach Corvo, but he could also see that even taking the effort to do so was hurting Daud in ways Corvo didn’t expect.

At fleeting moments during their lessons, Daud had a very pained expression on his face, as though he’d been plucked raw, and his eyes, usually fiery, were empty and despairing. 

So Corvo knew he had accidentally hit some sensitive part of Daud, and odd as it was, he wanted to know more about it. He was curious, curious about whatever he’d triggered, and curious of the man in general. 

Corvo feels almost _obligated_ to do so, after having spared Daud multiple times.

Corvo hates people abusing his kindness, and Daud is the one person Corvo won’t tolerate seeing his second chance being squandered away. 

Corvo expects much more from Daud, and so he scrutinises the man’s every actions, observes him so very carefully. He wants to understand him, but more importantly, he wants to see his repentance, his sincerity. He wants to see that Daud’s truly _sorry_ , and he’s doing everything to make up for it. 

Some small part of Corvo actually hopes to see the converse, that Daud _hasn’t_ done anything in atonement, so it can give Corvo a solid reason and justification to kill the assassin for real. 

But most of all, Corvo just wants to know what led Daud to this very point in his life. _Jessamine_ was stolen away from him, and Corvo thinks he deserves to know why, not simply because of money, or whatever reason motivated Daud to do it in the first place. 

He wants to know why Daud went into the blood business, why he started killing, why he started the whalers, _everything_. He wants to know it all, in some desperate hope that there would be _something_ that could justify him eventually killing Jessamine. Perhaps some kind of traumatic event in his past shaped him into a pessimistic person, distrusting of anyone and anything. 

Corvo wants to know.

It would make the sin of killing Jessamine seem less…cold-blooded, less savage somehow. Corvo still questions his decision to spare Daud sometimes, and knowing that _some_ reason prompted Daud’s actions would make it easier to justify Corvo’s decision to spare him, give him some kind of reassurance that he’d made the right decision. 

And so, when he first saw how hurt Daud was while teaching, Corvo obviously wanted to know more about it. When he pinpointed the origin of his pain to Billie Lurk, his past second-in-command, Corvo genuinely pitied Daud somewhat. He himself had been betrayed multiple times, and he too still felt a lot resentment towards them (Burrows and Havelock, mostly).

Daud probably trusted Billie Lurk a lot, and that explained why he was this upset and angry whenever she was mentioned. It must be why he was so adamant against the idea of teaching, after being hurt by her betrayal. 

And somewhere along the way – Corvo had no idea when – he started to actually _help_ Daud. 

Corvo sympathised with the man, and he immediately understood that Daud needed to confront Billie Lurk for once to resolve the issues between them. 

He tried to push him in that direction, but Daud kept resisting, often snapping back in anger. Corvo never blamed him when he did so, he understood that the ex-assassin probably couldn’t help himself when the matter at hand was something clearly very personal to him. 

So Corvo later made the two meet out of kindness, and out of Corvo’s desire to see Daud become a better person after having spared him so many times. 

It went much better than Corvo expected, and when Daud returned after the meeting, his eyes weren’t agitated and sparking up like a flint stone struck against steel. 

His eyes, despite being grey, always looked like molten glass, containing a monstrous fire so bright and vicious, melting the bars of the prison that was his eyes and spilling out, always glowing, always ready to _burn_. 

But that morning at breakfast, the fire in Daud’s eyes looked more akin to a candle, soft, flickering, _gentle_. He was a lot more subdued, less tense. He didn’t look like the growling wolfhound ready to strike as he usually was, and for once, he looked almost friendly enough to approach without fear of getting a hand bitten off. 

Corvo wouldn’t say he was necessarily _happy_ to see that, but he would consider it progress for Daud. 

One step of many before Corvo would even consider the thought of forgiving him. 

And then, a sudden knock on the door draws him out from his reverie, and Corvo drops the book on the table, going over to open the door. 

Expecting Kent, or perhaps one of the whalers, Corvo actually pauses for a few moments when he realises it’s _Daud_ , stone-faced and dressed in red. 

Daud says nothing – his eyes are the same candle-like flame Corvo saw during breakfast – and he holds out a thick stack of envelopes, with a different stack of loose parchment papers on top. 

Corvo takes them after a second, opening one envelope to look inside. The documents inside are written in a familiar hand, and it is-

Corvo freezes, flips through it briefly, and he starts to frown. 

_The nobles are planning a coup._

It’s not the first time, of course not, but Corvo has usually uncovered their schemes before they even headed _this far_. 

If he had more connections, if he just had a better spy network, more trustworthy informants, he would have discovered this much sooner. Then Corvo’s inadequacy starts to weigh down, and he shoves the documents back in with a sigh. 

He’ll have a lot of work to do when he goes back to Dunwall tomorrow. 

He takes a look at the other stack next. He reads off a few names, and then Corvo freezes yet again, eyes widening. 

The papers have many names on it, lists and lists. Informants, black market dealers, gang leaders, detailed descriptions of gang politics. A map of Gristol is included there too, with different locations marked in various ink colours: stashes, hideouts, good vantage points, anything remotely useful to a Royal Protector and Royal Spymaster. 

After a long minute, Corvo looks back up. Daud certainly could have done many things upon getting those job offers from the nobles, he could have chosen not to give Corvo those connections, but he _chose_ to sell the nobles out, and he _chose_ to help Corvo. 

…Perhaps Daud is progressing much better than Corvo initially thought. 

Corvo thinks of what to say for a few seconds, before he settles for:

“Thank you.” 

He sees Daud pause, almost unsettled by his thanks, and Corvo is about to walk back into his room when Daud suddenly starts to speak. 

“About-” Daud stops when Corvo’s eyes fall on him. “About yesterday…” 

“I...didn’t mean to yell at you. And…Thank you.” Daud finally says, and Corvo blinks once at him in surprise, before nodding. 

Later in the night, their lesson together goes on without a hitch. Daud doesn’t even lose his temper once, more at ease than ever. 

And when Corvo finally has to leave the next morning, Daud actually goes to see him off.


	15. A New Beginning

Another year passes since Corvo’s last visit. 

It is a late afternoon and Kent is in his clinic, spinning a pen, a little bored since there’s nothing to do. Usually, he would spend the idle time reading his anatomy book, but today, he can’t, because _Ralph_ has taken it. 

Kent looks over to the young boy sitting at the side.

The book in his hands is massive, nearly covering Ralph’s entire face, and he’s clearly engrossed in it, unmoving for hours now. Ever since he’s learnt how to read and write, he’s been buried in the anatomy book (even though it’s too complex for him to understand yet). To add to that, Ralph is admittedly a slow learner, but he makes up for it by working twice as hard, always saying “Master Corvo works very hard too, so I have to do the same!”. 

Every time Kent hears Ralph say that, Kent will smile, agreeing wholeheartedly. Corvo _does_ work very hard, from the stories he hears from his brothers, although Kent’s not sure if the Royal Protector’s such a good example for Ralph, as Corvo tends to overwork himself a lot as well. 

Kent returns back to fiddling with his pen, and his thoughts start to wander off again, this time settling on his master, Daud. 

For the past year, Daud has changed a lot. His usually hot-tempered master is much mellower now, slightly more patient even. He doesn’t flare up as often, and sometimes, he even reminds Kent of _Corvo_. Kent’s not entirely sure what motivated the change, but he knows it has to do with whatever happened during Corvo’s visit a year ago. He won't ask, he’s just not an intrusive person, and while he may remain apathetic, it doesn’t mean he’s oblivious to the changes he sees in Daud. 

He still remembers feeling guilty for being somewhat responsible for ruining the already strained relationship between them with his mentioning of Lurk, but it appeared that his worries were unwarranted. Just a mere day later, the two returned back to normal, back to tolerating each other’s presence in the inn.

Something obviously happened, because Daud actually went to see Corvo off when he had to go back to Dunwall (a shocking and relieving sight), but Kent doesn’t ask Daud about it.

Since Corvo’s last visit, a new bookshelf has been added to the first floor, and it is already half-filled. Certainly, Daud’s hunger for knowledge is at a deranged level (so much worse than Ralph when he’s bored). Daud reads a lot – almost too much, if Kent is being honest – and he reads a broad range of topics too. Chances are, if anyone asks Daud something, he’s likely to know some sort of knowledge about it. 

But besides his absurd reading habits, Daud occasionally leaves the inn altogether, coming back a few days later. He never says where he goes, but every time he comes back, his clothes are dusty and dirtied, with mud and sometimes, foliage on them. It’s very odd, but the whalers are all adamant on _not_ mentioning it as much as possible, pretending to be clueless. 

Daud certainly has changed a lot, apart from one thing: Daud still doesn’t like the cat. He doesn’t _hate_ her anymore, he tolerates her existence, but he doesn’t go out of his way to make her comfortable. The feeling’s clearly mutual, and Daud is the only person the cat doesn’t greet upon coming home; she flat out ignores him. 

Now thinking of the cat, Kent looks towards Ralph yet again, who’s back-facing the glass window to allow the light to shine on the book clutched in his hands. The cat is sleeping under the chair, tail curled up. Kent doesn’t often bring her to the clinic, but sometimes she will insist, meowing incessantly and prodding Kent all over until he gives in, and today had been one of those days. 

She had not been fond of Ralph at first, always hissing and snarling, seemingly jealous of the attention Kent gave to Ralph instead of her. But Ralph was not deterred, and with enough treats and cooing praises from him, the cat slowly grew to like him as well, and has since ceased hissing at the boy. 

And then the cat’s ears suddenly tilt upwards, just barely, and Kent instinctively looks towards the door. She’s always very sharp when it comes to visitors or guests. 

The wooden door creaks open, and Kent shifts his attention towards the young man now pressed against it. Ralph shuts his book at the noise. 

“Uhm…” The young man murmurs. 

He is drenched in sweat, and he looks to Kent, uncertain. 

“Can I help you?” 

“I uh…got hurt.” The young man licks his lips, shuffles slightly, and the door creaks outwards at the motion. 

“Come in, I’ll take a look at it.” Kent makes himself smile, to try put the man at ease. 

The young man slowly steps in, and sinks into the chair Ralph slides over to him.

Kent’s eyes are drawn to his trouser, dark rolls of cloth, but damp, wet, fibres fraying where a long cut has split the fabric. _Blood_. Kent swallows, puts on his gloves, and starts to roll up the trouser leg. The young man hisses, leg tensing, but he relaxes after a second and Kent continues. 

The long gash that Kent expects to see finally reveals itself at the side of the man’s calf, deep, red and fresh. The young man winces at the sight of it, and Kent quickly sterilises his tools, and disinfects the wound. 

As the thread goes in, Kent can see the man clenching his fists on his lap, and he quickly tries to distract him, 

“What happened?” 

“I’m not sure. I was just heading back from the harbour when _something_ attacked me.” The man groans, before mumbling, “Pounced on me at the back of an alley. Wearing a long cloak and everything. Luckily somebody saw me, shouted for help, and the attacker ran. Must have been those creeps, the Leviathan Children.” 

Both Kent and Ralph frown. 

They are not unfamiliar to the name. In fact, this man is the _fifth_ patient Kent has seen with injuries related to the Leviathan Children, a name given to the perpetrators of a series of unknown killings that started nearly a year ago. 

It was only a few lone murders then, so nobody paid them close attention. Muggings and murders weren’t uncommon after all. 

But in the past month, the killings escalated into a series of thoughtless carnage with unclear motivations, seemingly random, with only one thing connecting everything together: all the victims were _sailors_ , or anyone who depended on the sea as their form of livelihood.

Soon enough, the name _Leviathan Children_ was coined, and people started believing that the acts were wrought in the name of the Outsider, in revenge for the massacre of whales thought to be sacred to the deity. 

“-But apart from that, have you heard?” 

Kent blinks, thrown back to reality. The man seems calmer after talking, although Kent has admittedly not been listening, stonily nodding at intervals out of habit. The wound is nearly closed already, his fingers aptly working through the motions even though he’s not actually focused on the task. 

“Heard what?” 

“Empress Emily Kaldwin is visiting here. Some kind of political visit, I reckon.” 

Kent sees Ralph perk up at the name from the corner of his eyes. 

“But the truth is that she’s nothing but a _token_ empress. Who really holds authority is that Royal Protector of hers…Attano, was it? Went through a whole load of _shit_ back in Dunwall few years ago, with Burrows’s conspiracy, the plague.” The young man says, a hint of respect in his voice. “Got framed and everything, and now he essentially rules Dunwall. Pretty impressive.” 

Kent just nods. 

“When will they be coming?” Ralph cuts in, and the young man turns to look at Ralph properly for the first time since coming in. 

“Soon I reckon. Those nobles tend to keep quiet about these things, but security’s been going up for the past week at Dunwall’s dockyard, us sailors definitely notice it.” 

Kent nods again, wrapping up the wound. 

“Thank you…uh…Kent, right?” The man falters. 

“Uhm…yes.” Kent replies uncertainly. Why does this man know his name? 

“The name’s Pavel.” He says, before adding, “sorry, didn’t mean to creep you out there, but you’re actually pretty well-known among us sailors. The redhead with the young boy, we call you two.” 

Kent blankly stares back, surprised. 

“We keep track of these things, us being at sea and all. Get sick easily, so word spreads fast when there’s a good physician around. Honest. Skilled.”

The words make Kent flush involuntarily, and Pavel chuckles at that, foot now wrapped back up in thick bandages.

“Shy too, I suppose.” Pavel adds with a laugh. “Well, it’s been nice meeting you Kent. Thank you for the help.” 

Pavel gets back up, pays Kent the coin, and leaves, the door rattling as it closes.

Ralph instantly beams up at Kent, all childish excitement, and before the boy can say anything, Kent quickly says, 

“Corvo will be here for _business_ , not to play.” 

Ralph sulks for a few seconds, but he quickly cheers up at the thought of actually being able to see Corvo once again. 

The boy then goes back to his chair, pulling open the book, and Kent resumes spinning his pen. 

It’s worrisome, the killings. Kent’s not especially worried for himself, since the clinic’s a fair distance from the docks (where most of the killings take place), but he does close the clinic earlier to head home while still under the protection of daylight. 

He’s more worried for his brothers, and for, well…everyone, actually. No one deserves to get stabbed for no reason when out on the streets, and the Leviathan Children….they are known to be _especially_ brutal. Serial killers aren’t entirely uncommon, but the Leviathan Children stand out from the rest because they are truly _very_ violent. There are rumours of people being left in _pieces_ , faces stabbed and smashed into pulp, skulls cracked, all unspeakably morbid deaths. 

And when a particularly gruesome murder was discovered at an alley a week ago, a little _too_ close to the inn, Daud started his own investigation into the matter. He usually doesn’t interfere in these things, but it appears that the murders have gotten slightly out of hand now, and Daud wants them stopped. 

But he no longer has his usual network of spies and informants like in Dunwall, and finding anything out is now more difficult, more tedious, even though Thomas and Feodor are assisting him whenever they can. And looking at his master’s frown each evening, Kent can guess that Daud hasn’t discovered anything new about the strange killings. 

A few more hours pass.

Kent is just about to close the clinic when the door opens again, this time revealing a young lady with sparkling blue eyes. 

“Adrielle.” Kent greets, mostly in surprise. 

She’s dressed in dull colours today, very unlike her, but she’s told Kent she doesn’t want to attract attention especially with the rampant killings going on. 

“Hey Kent!” Adrielle grins, her face brightening up a few notches just by a simple smile. “And good day to you, Ralph.” 

Kent shoots Ralph a look, a half-glare, and Ralph rolls his eyes in response. 

“Yeah, fine…I promise I won’t tell anyone you two were together.” Ralph grumbles, clearly a rehearsed answer, and he goes back to reading the anatomy book. 

Kent turns back to face Adrielle. The dark curls of her hair are slightly moist with sweat, and her chest is rising up and down in a fairly quick pace. She clearly walked a long way just to see Kent, and part of him warms at the knowledge. 

But-

“You can’t keep coming in here…I thought we agreed to meet on rest day.” Kent sighs softly. He already knows where this is going, and he can see the faint cracks of anxiety in Adrielle’s almost plastic-like smile, waiting to break forth. 

“I know. I just- When the last killing happened so near the inn…” The rest of Adrielle’s words fade into a mumble. 

“I’ll be fine. Really.” Kent replies, as reassuringly as he can. He may not be trained like his brothers are, but he still has supernatural powers just in case of an emergency…not that Adrielle knows that. 

Adrielle says nothing, not convinced, but she makes a forced smile nonetheless. 

“I’ll see you on rest day, alright? We can go eat, drink...and I’ll bring you roses.” Kent makes his tone more upbeat, placing a hand on Adrielle’s shoulder. 

She laughs a little, returning back to her usual cheerful demeanour, and she shakes her head. 

“I don’t like roses.” 

“Why not? Every lady likes roses.” 

“Hm…I just don’t.” Adrielle shrugs dismissively, before grinning and changing the subject. “Can I walk you home today?” 

“…You already know my answer to that.” 

“Just today?” 

“ _No_.” 

Adrielle sulks. 

“I don’t know why you’re so particular about that. Who cares if they sees me, it’s not as if they don’t know about us...right, Ralph?” 

The boy’s head bobs, not looking up once. 

Kent starts to turn red, and Adrielle’s grin returns, her blue eyes flashing. Teasing Kent is one of her favourite pastimes. 

“That- It doesn’t matter! That’s not the point!” 

Kent turns away to hide his face, which is honestly a bad mistake. 

The only warning Kent gets is the waft of floral perfume and a soft brush of hair against his neck, before a small wet kiss is pressed to his flushed cheeks. 

Kent’s heart gives a hard thump and he jumps back, startled like some wild animal. 

Adrielle smirks. 

“I’ll see you, Kent.” 

With that, Adrielle leaves, while Kent just stands agape at the table, a hand pressed to his cheek, the smell of her perfume still heavily infused in his lungs. 

When he finally returns back to the inn later in the evening, he tells everything to Daud and his brothers (except Adrielle of course), Daud paying close attention when Kent mentions ‘Leviathan Children’ and ‘Empress Emily’.

\----------

A few days later – as Pavel predicted – the main docks, the Campo Seta dockyards, are swarming with elite Serkonan guards in red uniforms, while the citizens watch on curiously, puzzled. They start to vacant the area, setting up perimeters very early in the morning. The citizens don’t know what’s going on, but Daud and the whalers obviously do, and they have gone to check out the procession at dawn, standing on surrounding rooftops to watch. Kent follows along too.

Hours pass, the sun is near its peak in the sky, and a ship is finally seen in the distance, distinctly Dunwall-made, all metal and sharp edges like everything in Dunwall. 

Theodanis Abele, the current Duke of Serkonos, arrives in a railcar, escorted by the Grand Serkonan Guard. His hair greyed with age, but he still retains a certain youthfulness to him in his lively eyes and smile, while Luca Abele, his son, stands behind him, slightly plump (Kent has never liked Luca. He has a bad reputation among the Serkonan citizens). 

The ship gets closer, and closer, and when it finally docks, an entourage of Dunwall guards step out, a contrast to the Serkonan guards with their navy-blue uniforms. 

The guards take their respective positions, lining a pathway in two straight rows. 

The crowd starts to chatter, and then- 

Dunwall’s empress, Emily Drexel Lela Kaldwin, steps out into the Serkonan sun.

Dressed in white and with her black hair tied up in a bun, she has a startling likeness to _Jessamine_ , despite being so young, and Kent sees Daud stiffen at the sight. 

She is smiling, face covered with a generous amount of cosmetics. 

The crowd’s chatter grows in volume. 

Somebody steps out beside Emily. 

He is very tall, with short hair and a strange uniform, styled very differently from those donned by the captains and generals standing guard around Emily. His footsteps exude dominance, and he looks important, maybe an advisor of some kind. The man says a few words to Emily, and the young empress smiles fondly, saying something back. 

…It honestly takes an embarrassingly long time for Kent to realise that that is _Corvo_. 

He looks so _different_. Corvo has _cut_ his hair, his brown hair is so much shorter now. He looks neater though, more presentable, and – it is an odd thought – but Kent can actually see Corvo’s ears now. 

His long, heavy Royal Protector coat has been discarded for a simple sleeveless leather vest and hood, wrapped around his whole torso, held together by long straps across his chest. Kent can see the hint of gold embroidery peeking out from another vest underneath, with a long-sleeved dark blue shirt under everything else to finish the clean look. 

He looks… _nice_. His previous long coat makes him look bigger than he actually is, more intimidating, but this uniform makes him look sharp, agile, but still equally dangerous. 

“Is that…Corvo? He looks so different.” Feodor’s surprise is evident. “What do you think, Daud?” 

Daud doesn’t reply. The man is still crouched at the rooftop, unmoving. It appears that he hasn’t even _heard_ Feodor’s question. 

Huh…how odd. 

“Uh…Daud?” 

The man finally looks up, pausing for a few short seconds. It is rare that he ever gets speechless. 

“He looks _ridiculous_.” Daud finally huffs out, before turning away, although Kent can see his eyes still fixed on Corvo. 

Corvo looks up all of a sudden, eyes falling on the group of whalers on the rooftops. He stares for a few seconds, seemingly curious, before turning his attention back to Emily, a few steps beside him. 

Theodanis smiles when he sees Emily and Corvo, wrinkles evident on his face, and they make their proper greetings to each other. Theodanis then goes to Corvo, saying something to him quite tenderly, hand on his shoulder, a rare sombre expression on his face. Corvo says something back, and Theodanis smiles back sadly, patting Corvo’s shoulder before turning away. 

The whole group of them then promptly enter a railcar, zooming off through the streets. The guards gradually dissipate, and the docks become empty once more, the excitement dying down.

Feodor then turns to the group, mischievous grin on his face. 

“We should go check out what they are doing.” 

Kent’s first reaction is to shoot him an unimpressed look, to say ‘no’, but Daud – his cold master - actually _nods_ , and Feodor’s smile widens. 

With that, the whole gang of them dart across the rooftops, silently, all with the finesse of the assassins they’ve been trained as by Daud (Kent is the exception of course. He’s awfully clumsy with his blinks, but Feodor helps him past the more daunting gaps between the rooftops).

The Duke’s palace is a massive building when it comes into view, constructed out of pale stone, all curved and round. The building itself is dull, grey, but with bushes and bushes of luscious foliage, interposed by small dots of red and yellow, tiny flowers hidden in all the green, the whole palace is suddenly brought to life. 

Kent passes by an empty railcar at the entrance, and Feodor pulls him up a gate, helping him blink up the next wall. Kent is panting heavily by the time he catches up to the rest of his brothers, who have yet to even break a sweat. 

Hidden behind the leaves, and camouflaged by the dull colour of their clothes (save Daud’s vibrant red coat), they watch through a window, curious. 

They are watching a meeting room of some sort, with a large table and chairs in the centre. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, glittering, and luxurious carpeting lines the floor, of a dark maroon colour. Three people are in the room: Emily, Theodanis, and…Corvo, of course him – although Kent doesn’t recognise him for a few seconds yet again. 

It is private meeting, it appears, as there are no guards around them. 

Emily settles into one of the plush chairs, and Corvo takes the seat next to hers, his tall form a big contrast to Emily. 

Corvo briefly looks up at the whalers, and Kent freezes for a moment. He expects to see displeasure, or anger perhaps, but none of it shows on his face. Corvo merely looks…curious, and he pays them little attention, eyes flickering back to Emily in a split second.

Kent sighs a little in relief at that. So it appears he doesn’t mind the whalers’ presence there. 

“…It’s good to see you again, Corvo.” Theodanis says warmly, now in the privacy of his own home. Theodanis’s voice is softer here, not like the crisp voice he has in the loudspeakers. 

“It is an honour, Duke Abele.”

Corvo’s voice is also very different from the voice he uses with Kent or his brothers. Corvo is clear here, loud, confident, the gentleness only barely at the surface of his voice. 

“Why so formal, Corvo? Theodanis will do. We’ve known each other for years after all.” 

Corvo nods back, smiling a little. 

Theodanis then gestures to Corvo’s head. 

“I see somebody finally persuaded you to get a haircut. It’s been about time. That mop of yours was getting ridiculous.” 

Corvo smiles, with a barest hint of the impudence he probably carried in his youth, and Kent raises an eyebrow at that. He simply can’t imagine Corvo being anything else but the quiet, calm man Kent is used to seeing. Just thinking that Corvo was young once, bold and perhaps cocky is an alien thought, and Kent chucks it aside. 

“And of course, it’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Emily. It’s a shame, what happened to your mother. She was a good ruler.” Theodanis gives a sympathetic smile to Emily. 

“Thank you, Theodanis.” Emily says, flashing a smile of her own, edges of her lips crinkling with sorrow. 

They start to talk, about the general affairs of Dunwall and Karnaca, before Theodanis falls back into a more serious tone. 

“…But back to the more pressing matters at hand…” Theodanis starts, using the same voice Kent hears over the loudspeakers. 

“As I have mentioned in my letter, I do wish for trade negotiations to restart as soon as possible, now with Dunwall plague-free and stable.” 

Emily nods. 

“The issue here isn’t the lack of confidence in Dunwall, Empress. There is…an unresolved matter here in Karnaca. Killings on the streets, specifically targeting the sailors, whalers, anyone who works at sea. They’ve been called the Leviathan Children by the citizens. Of course, we have been conducting our own investigations, but the motivation is yet unclear. People on the streets believe supernatural involvement, say the crimes are done by a group of cultists, in revenge for the Outsider’s lost whales.” 

“You believe it is politically motivated.” Corvo surmises. 

“But as you could expect, the nobles reject the notion, deny it so fervently indeed. Not to forget that this investigation involves the Overseers and guards occupying the same space and working together…”

Theodanis makes a sound, something between a grimace and a scoff.

“…We already know how _well_ that works out. So bluntly put, our investigations are at a standstill.” 

Corvo and Emily both nod, almost sympathetically. 

“The majority of the nobles here agree to the trade agreement between us and Dunwall, but the minority…” Theodanis pauses. “They fear that re-opening trade barriers will cause the spread of the deadly plague-”

“The plague is _cured_.” Emily cuts in, and Corvo frowns at the interruption. Kent sees Emily blush, and then mumble an apology to Corvo and Theodanis. 

She’s barely thirteen, nowhere old enough to rule a _whole kingdom_ on her own, and she has yet to learn the courtly etiquette required in doing so. She’s terribly inexperienced, and Kent can’t help but sympathise with her situation. At least she has Corvo to support her.

“We are aware of that, Emily.” Theodanis says, more gently this time, very understanding to the young child. “But not everyone _wants_ to agree. As you know, our people and the Gristolians have been at odds for _years_. Discrimination and prejudice is heavily intertwined in our history. People are willing to use any excuse to get petty revenge - forget the long term implications. To stop the agreement from taking place, they are willing to go to the extremes, even if it means killing people to strike fear in the sailors, the very people trade depend on.” 

Emily swallows before speaking, more careful this time. 

“So if we…fix…this problem, we can go ahead with the agreement.” 

“That is correct. Our people have already voted and decided on it.” 

“What if Cor-my Royal Protector lends his assistance in the investigation? He’s very proficient.” 

Theodanis exchanges a glance with Corvo, who says nothing in response. 

“He certainly is _very_ proficient.” Theodanis smiles fondly. “But I’m not certain that the Overseers or the guards will take his involvement lightly.” 

Emily tries to remain unaffected by the gentle rejection, but she doesn’t succeed well, and her crestfallen, defeated face breaks through. 

“But…I see no harm in a… _covert_ …investigation. If you choose to lend your assistance, of course.” Theodanis says. 

The discussion continues into other subjects, and when Theodanis leaves to handle other matters, Emily sighs deeply, now alone with her Royal Protector. 

“I’m sorry Corvo. I did something wrong again.” Emily’s shoulders fall. 

The responsibility of handling a whole kingdom definitely doesn’t come easy, Kent can see how stressed and frustrated she is with her inability to handle the matters yet. She is simply too young, lacking in both knowledge and maturity, and Kent knows that Emily is very troubled by it. Kent can see in her worried expression that she wants to grow up fast, to learn fast, and properly take on the role that is, as of yet, a cloak too big and daunting for her to wear. 

“It’s fine. You’re still young. You’ll only learn if you make mistakes, Emily.” Corvo gently advises, hand comfortingly brushing across her shoulder. 

“That’s just an excuse, isn’t it? My _age_.” Emily sighs again. “I just want to do it right. I wish I paid more attention to my tutors in the past.” _Now that mother is gone_ goes unsaid, but it rings out anyway. Emily starts to look miserable, even though she tries to hide it, and Corvo’s expression softens. 

“I know. But these things take time, Emily. Learning the ropes of ruling a kingdom _years_. I took decades to learn too. Like I told you, take it slow, take as much time as you need. You don’t need to rush, I’ll always be here to help you.” 

It is odd for Kent to hear Corvo speak so much in one go, but with Emily, it seems completely natural. 

Emily forces a smile. 

“Thanks Corvo.” 

Corvo smiles at her, a tender, affectionate smile Kent has never seen before. 

“Now, your tutors are waiting, your majesty, and it’s time for your history lesson… _boring old history_.” Corvo teases, mimicking Emily’s high falsetto. “…Don’t give me that look. I’ll give you a climbing lesson afterwards alright? You little rascal.” 

Emily grins cheekily and nods. Corvo smiles back. 

“For now, your _Royal Protector_ has some detective work to do.” 

Emily’s grin widens. 

“Good luck, Corvo!” Emily cheers, in a very child-like manner. 

“I’ll see you later.” Corvo brushes a quick kiss to her forehead, and leaves the room to speak with some of the Royal Guardsmen outside.

Kent and the others head back after that, while Daud disappears halfway, muttering for Kent and the others to head back without him. There is a thoughtful look on Daud’s face when he says so, and Kent knows he’s probably out to investigate more about the Leviathan Children. 

He really hopes Daud can find something, and stop the mad killers once and for all.

\----------

It is now very late in the night.

Daud is poring over a set of documents at the table, shut out from everything else going on around him as he tries to analyse the latest scraps of information about the Leviathan Children. Daud is trying to draw links, a connection of some sort, _anything_ that could give a hint into the next move of the killers.

Everyone else is asleep, the whole inn is submerged in silence, casted in dark shadows, save the one flickering lamp at Daud’s table. 

His train of thought is interrupted by the faintest creak of the inn door opening, and Daud’s ears instantly twitch upwards. 

…Well, he did leave the door unlocked for a reason…

But Daud doesn’t look up, still focused at the lines and lines inked into the paper. 

He senses the person drawing near, as quiet as a panther, and Daud finally tears his eyes away from the papers, turning to face the man properly.

Corvo is resonating with the all the elegance and confidence his station demands, and Daud quickly recognises that he’s meeting the _Royal Protector_ , not Corvo Attano. 

His voice is still as soft as always, and yet, somehow _deafening_ at the same time, like a thunderous boom in the dark night, capable of waking even the dead. 

“We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you know, I have already planned out the whole story months prior, speculating certain things and making up other things, and with the release of Dishonored 2 (only a few more days now!! :D), I know that some details and facts will be completely wrong. Still, I have no intention of changing them to fit the new canon, so I hope you can understand that 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! :)


	16. The Gift

Corvo has never expected that there would ever be a day where he could genuinely _respect_ Daud after all he’s done, but it is getting harder and harder to try to ignore that fact. 

Besides Daud’s obvious prowess in combat and stealth, he is also a very inquisitive person. Daud hates the unknown, and in his bid to uncover every mystery that could drive him into the deepest parts of Pandyssia if he chooses to, he is also detailed, determined, and surprisingly hard-working.

Corvo initially tried to ignore that. Admitting that Daud of all people had some good points to him felt like he was failing Jessamine somehow, as though he wasn’t honouring her death enough. How could he actually see _good_ in a murderer that tore Jessamine away from him? 

Corvo was secretly determined to find faults in the man, just to add more fuel to the fire of resentment in him, but as time passed, as Corvo saw more and more of Daud, the more Daud’s strengths started to shine, and _not_ acknowledging them became near impossible. 

Daud genuinely has many good points to him. He _is_ an impressive individual. He may have many faults: hot-tempered, impatient, quick to violence, arrogant…Corvo can name countless more, but Daud is also driven, observant, and in general, a surprisingly honest person. 

But what Corvo respects the most about him is his passion for learning and his grit. 

It is a combination of personality traits that Corvo genuinely admires.

Jessamine was a rare person that had that combination, and she shone brighter than _everyone else_. She was curious about everything, she liked to learn, to grow, and she would stop at nothing to see it happen. It made her shine in whatever she set her mind to do, and her glow enraptured Corvo instantly. He eventually grew to love seeing her succeed, to see her radiant light explode out in a lovely wash of colours like no one else could. 

_Daud_ too, surprisingly, is another such person, and Corvo genuinely respects him for it. 

And it is because of Corvo’s respect for him that _Daud_ is the first name that came to mind when Corvo was about to start investigating the mysterious killings. 

He knows that Daud would have done his own research. He would have his own suspicions about the case, and furthermore, he lives in Serkonos now, he’s more familiar with everything going on here more so than Corvo. He is a wealth of information waiting to be tapped, and Corvo won’t let go of such a valuable asset that easily. 

Daud knew that. He had expected Corvo to come, and he’s not the slightest bit surprised when Corvo says, 

“We need to talk.” 

Daud just looks at Corvo, before he replies, 

“This is about those killings isn’t it? The Leviathan Children.” 

Corvo makes a sound of affirmation. 

“What do you know of it?” 

Daud pauses, eyes locking with Corvo’s, just studying him.

Corvo returns the gaze, studying him in return. It’s something they do very often around each other, and usually, Corvo isn’t comfortable with being scrutinised like that, but for Daud, he allows it. 

Actually _talking_ to one another feels impossible as of yet after everything that has happened between them. Any kind of interaction feels like a minefield, ready to explode with a single wrong step. The two are naturally guarded people – even more so around each other – but at the same time, they are still interested in understanding each other. 

Observing each other seems to be the only way they can try to communicate with each other, watching body language, trying to gauge each other’s state of mind, emotions, and then react accordingly from there. 

Daud’s eyes are always sharp, like a blade, like trying to peel Corvo open and expose him for who he really is. 

Corvo has no idea what Daud sees within him, but in Daud, Corvo sees uncertainty. 

Corvo’s presence here has one _obvious_ suggestion: becoming allies and working together, and Daud is obviously considering it, weighing it, trying to determine if it’s a good idea.

But that is only the surface emotion, and Corvo looks deeper into Daud’s eyes. Past the grey surface, he half-expects to see Daud’s fiery blaze, snapping and vicious, spawned from decades of violence and peppered with guilt and regret-

But…

Corvo blinks once in faint surprise. Daud’s flame is not entirely gone, the violence, guilt, regret, everything is still there. It is still a bit too bright, frenzied sometimes, still capable of burning somebody, _hurting_ somebody, but at the same time, there is something _gentle_ in the flickering flame. Everything about Daud is fire, and his fire used to feel like ignited whale oil, powerful, dangerous, but this time, it feels more like a fire in a cold winter night, warm, soothing.

That itself says a lot about Daud’s state of mind, and Corvo stares into that flame for a few more seconds. 

_Daud’s changed._

He supposes he should be _happy_ Daud is making some form of progress, but at the same time, he still can’t find it in himself to actually feel happy for Daud. Corvo resents him, no matter what, and even though Daud’s clearly changing, learning to be a better person, Corvo doesn’t know if he can ever forgive Daud.

Daud seems to sense Corvo’s sudden change in mood, and he looks away, finally answering Corvo’s question. 

“Not much. They cover their tracks well.” Daud’s tone is still, but Corvo can sense Daud’s silent agreement to work together, to be allies in this investigation. 

Daud hands over a stack of papers on the table, and Corvo takes them, quickly reading through them. 

“How long has this been going on?” Corvo asks. 

“A year ago, but it was never enough killings to cause huge alarm, so nobody paid it any attention. It was only a few weeks ago that their attacks grew more frequent, and people started drawing links to the murders months ago. The killings take place mostly at night, although there are a few odd cases that occur in the day. Official investigations have been sluggish so far – not just because of the _poor_ working relations between the Overseers and guards…” 

Corvo nods once, to indicate that he’s listening, and Daud continues. 

“…The notoriety of the Leviathan Children encourages street dwellers to use that as a convenient guise to perform their own muggings. After all, everyone would assume the Leviathan Children did those things, not a mere street robber. Makes it hard to differentiate _real_ killings from the fake ones, and that only hampers investigations even more.” 

Daud keeps speaking while Corvo reads, and somewhere inside his mind, Corvo decides that working with Daud actually might not be as unpleasant as he initially anticipated. 

Daud knows to differentiate business from his own personal affairs. He can put aside their hefty history and speak to Corvo in a neutral tone, freely and honestly. There are no disguised jabs or insults like there usually is when Corvo deals with the nobles in Dunwall, and it is refreshing. 

Daud is also very meticulous. He is analytical, logical; his thinking is very similar to Corvo’s, but at the same time, different enough to offer new insights Corvo wouldn’t have thought about.

Daud does know his work well, and Corvo’s respect for him grows a little more. 

If Daud didn’t become an assassin for hire, he would have done a lot of good in Dunwall. They could have been allies. 

_Maybe even friends._

Corvo freezes at the thought. 

“…The attacks mainly occur at the Campo Seta dockyards.” Daud explains. “The bodies are usually dumped into the sea, or left in a secluded alley. They are all killed in a myriad of different ways, but almost all of them – at least those that are still _recognisable_ \- have a slit to the throat and oddly, the wrist. Possibly to drain blood, which could suggest cultist involvement.” 

“Somebody could be doing it to cast blame on cultists. To hide the political motive behind the attacks.” Corvo adds, and Daud nods in agreement. 

If _politics_ is the motivating factor behind these attacks, then it would be wise to investigate the nobles in Serkonos. Look for those that objected to the trade agreement in particular. 

“Do you have a-” Corvo begins. 

“If you’re looking for a list of the nobles which voted against the trade route, it’s over here.” Daud interrupts, waving a stack of papers. “I had the same suspicions as well.” 

Corvo blinks in pleasant surprise, and takes it. 

He’s not especially familiar with the current nobility circle in Serkonos, and the list helps. Daud has the name of each noble written at the top, associated family members, past history, age, and all the details Corvo needs. It is good work, considering Daud only started his investigations a little more than a week ago. His ability to collect and organise information is certainly unparalleled to any guardsmen in Dunwall. 

Upon further discussion, Daud reveals that he’s been watching the nobles carefully for the past nights, although none seem to show any sign of involvement into the Leviathan Children. Some of them were even conducting their _own_ investigations for it. So either they were very good at hiding, or Daud wasn’t comprehensive enough (which Corvo somehow doubts). 

And then the thought that follows makes Corvo frown. 

Corvo is more adept in uncovering secrets than Daud is, in fact, he could probably discern if they are guilty or not within seconds. 

_The heart_. 

A chill runs down his spine. 

Daud’s voice sudden fades into the distance and Corvo shudders at the thought of the leathery dry surface, the inhuman beat of the mechanical atrocity. Capable of unearthing secrets and discovering one’s true intentions, it is something both disturbingly helpful and unsettling at the same time. 

When he first received the wired thing, bits of metal, glass and bloodless flesh, Corvo was absolutely revolted. It was just…morbid. A _real_ human heart, defiled by odd gears and glass, disgraced of its original purpose of giving very _life_ to a person and degraded into some kind of machine tool. 

A “gift”. 

An almost sinful choice of words coming from a _god_ , and that only made it even worse. 

It was to help him locate runes and bone charms, or to tell him secrets. A tool. 

Corvo remembered swallowing upon getting the gift, trying to look past that. At that point, in his desperation to get Emily back, to get back everything that was stolen from him, he was willing to take _anything_. 

Then Corvo heard its whispers. 

A familiar voice. 

He had dropped the heart out of a mixture of shock, horror, and disbelief. 

A voice he had been trying to dream of for six months, now trapped in a cage. A voice he’d wanted to hold onto so desperately for six months. A voice he haven’t heard for _six months_. It was _back_ , and it could only echo in a poor semblance of its real vigour within the confines of Corvo’s mind. 

_Jessamine_. 

Realisation dawned upon him, and his shock redoubled in intensity. 

This is Jessamine’s heart. Her _real_ heart, snatched out from her beautiful body, defiled, made a mockery by a god’s whim. 

Corvo was completely horrified. 

When he eventually regained the nerve to pick it back up, Corvo felt so disgusted by the feel of it in his hands. He shouldn’t be touching such a thing. It is a _heart_ , a gift of life, a miracle in itself, and it is _Jessamine’s_. 

But even though his body was wrecked by the fury and horror of seeing his lovely butterfly turned into this…monstrosity, some odd thread of relief latched on, loud enough for Corvo to consciously notice its existence. 

Jessamine was everything to Corvo, he had given her _everything_ , and she was gone too fast, too sudden. 

And even when she was dead, her precious life slipping away, Corvo didn’t even have the luxury to grieve. He was thrown into a cell and _trapped_ for six months, tortured and hurt all over. The heat brands and hammers have scarred not only his body, but left huge gaping wounds in his soul. 

When he finally escaped, his hopeful thoughts, ones that typically left him in despair behind the bars, were brought to life once more, burning bright. 

But with that came something else. Something deep and dark had taken root inside him with the delicious smell of freedom, and the murderous cold thoughts it generated _terrified_ Corvo. There was so much rage and grief, Corvo was scared of letting it overtake everything else, burn away all the warmth Jessamine loved, and leave him a mere shadow of himself, to become the person Corvo swore to protect Jessamine _against_. 

Even though free from his physical cage, he wasn’t free from his own mental cage, and Corvo had felt just as trapped as ever, always trying to hold back all the rage simmering inside.

It was agonising. The grief was still fresh. The torture was still fresh, and Corvo yearned for nothing else but to have Jessamine back, the only person that could make Corvo’s world explode in lovely colours with just a simple smile. 

He was a broken person, soul cracked open and beaten to pulp, and the heart, as macabre as it was, gave him _relief_. 

It had Jessamine’s voice. 

It… _was_ …Jessamine. 

She was not gone. No, not completely. Corvo would have her by his side, as it should have been. In just…a different form. She wouldn’t be the same, of course, but she was still _there_ , right next to Corvo, and amidst his tortured suffering and pain, Corvo greedily drank all those lies, desperately seeking the comfort and relief. 

Corvo didn’t want to accept that she was truly dead, and if this…heart…was the one way Corvo could be reminded of her soft lavender scent and her musical laugh, he would _take it_. 

Corvo used to try to console himself by saying that Jessamine would have been happy to help Corvo in any way in taking down Burrows. He used to tell himself that Jessamine would also be relieved to be next to Corvo, even if she was _different_ , changed. Those were just excuses of course, Corvo knew that deep inside, but with the stress and the trauma from Coldridge still so fresh in his mind, Corvo easily accepted those thoughts. 

But as time passed, as the years passed, Corvo took out the heart less and less. He knew better. 

Sometimes Corvo was angry with himself. He blamed himself for her predicament. If he had been stronger, faster, this wouldn’t have happened to her – no, she wouldn’t have been _killed_ in the first place. Sometimes Corvo was angry at the Outsider, a cruel, apathetic god that saw those he marked as nothing more than amusing pets. Other times he hated Burrows for starting everything from the very beginning, and yet other times he threw his anger to Daud, the man who’d done the actual deed. 

When Daud asked him how he was locating the runes a year ago, Corvo was instantly furious, even though it was a genuine, casual question. Daud knew nothing. He didn’t know about the heart, about Jessamine, about anything, but Corvo still snapped at him, so upset and angry at the time. And then when the Outsider taunted him about it, Corvo wished he could step into the Void and kill the Outsider himself, or kill Daud, or kill himself. 

It became very apparent that whatever state Jessamine was turned into is _not_ the person Corvo loves more than anything in the world. 

He doesn’t love her - the heart. He loves _her_ , the real Jessamine, the one that was silenced by Daud. The heart is nothing Corvo loves about Jessamine. She isn’t radiant here, she isn’t glowing and she isn’t Corvo’s beautiful butterfly. She is still _Jessamine_ , but something…less. Something that shouldn’t exist, something that Corvo cannot love. 

Jessamine is _dead_ , and the heart can never be a replacement for the Jessamine Corvo knew and loved. 

Jessamine is already gone. 

He knows that Jessamine’s…spirit is trapped in there. _Trapped_. The very feeling Corvo hates more than anything else in the world. He knows that she is suffering, that she isn’t at peace, not even in death. 

So it pains him to take her out, to listen to her empty whisperings of the people he points her towards or to feel her beat hard and fast when near a rune. 

He rarely takes her out now, only when absolutely necessary, because Corvo is somehow comforted by the thought that in using her less, Jessamine suffers less, she doesn’t have to feel as much. 

He wants to let her go, but he doesn’t know _how_. 

He went to the beach once, about to let her be washed away by the waves, but the thought of her being alone and lost or worse, _eaten_ by ruthless hagfish made him quickly abandon the idea. 

He considered stabbing her, a morbid thought, but that too was abandoned because there was no way Corvo could ever kill her. 

He then considered asking the Outsider to free her, but Corvo knew, that if the god was heartless enough to see her die and gleefully watch an empire turn to ashes, there was no way he would be kind enough to grant Corvo that one wish. 

So Corvo just held onto it, keeping her safe, trying not to use her, to defile her, until he could find a way to release her and-

“-Are you even listening?” 

Daud’s voice pierces through his reverie, and Corvo snaps up. Daud is studying him again, grey eyes sharp, trying to gauge Corvo’s thoughts once more. 

Corvo blinks once, drawn back to the investigation, the Leviathan Children. 

The…heart… _Jessamine_ , would be a convenient solution in unearthing secrets, definitely, but Corvo is still very uncomfortable with the thought, knowing that he has to _use_ her again, make her suffer. 

But it is quick, another part of Corvo’s mind reasons, and if he can save more lives in doing so…would it be worth it? Would Jessamine have wanted that? 

Corvo frowns. Just thinking of holding her in his hand, how unnatural it is, how _disgusting_ it is, makes bile rise up his throat, and he hurriedly buries the thought aside. 

Daud is still studying him, more confused now. He obviously senses that Corvo’s distracted by something, but doesn’t want to ask. But he also realises that he has Corvo’s attention once again, so he starts to speak again.

“…I asked if you wanted to investigate the nobles yourself. I’ll take half, we can cover more ground that way.” Daud says flatly. 

Corvo stares at him for a few seconds, before nodding. 

The rest of the night is then spent breaking into different nobles’ houses, snooping around, reading journals and collecting audiographs. When dawn comes, Corvo returns back to Emily, and Daud goes back to the inn, continuing the investigation.

\----------

When Corvo returns, Emily is already awake. Emily always gets nervous when Corvo isn’t around, but she’s never afraid that something happens to herself, she’s more afraid of something happening to _Corvo_.

She tries to hide the fear, suppress it, but Emily is still scarred by the murder, and her emotions spill out on her face. Corvo gently smiles at her in response, which makes Emily grin back impishly. 

The mischievous smile makes Corvo think of Jessamine when she was younger, when Corvo first became the Royal Protector. Emily may have Corvo’s brown eyes, but she has Jessamine’s ebony hair, her face structure and brow shape, and sometimes, looking at Emily _pains_ him. 

“Did you find anything, Corvo?” Emily’s energetic tone wakes Corvo up from his melancholic thoughts. 

“Not yet.” Corvo replies her, going closer to fix Emily’s collar, which has come undone. 

“I can do it myself.” Emily pouts up at him, pushing Corvo’s hand aside. 

Corvo obliges, even as his heart twinges a little. She’s growing up fast, too fast. The fact is that he won’t be able to take care of Emily as he used to anymore. Corvo already misses these moments, the short moments when he gets to love Emily as a father, take care of her and fix her clothes. 

“Will you stay for breakfast, Corvo?” 

It is an innocent question, but Corvo can see the way the tips of Emily’s lips dip slightly. Corvo knows it pains her whenever Corvo has to leave, whether for a short holiday or to conduct some investigation. Emily used to be petulant, spoilt even, throwing tantrums as she pleased. She is more understanding now, more matured, and she has long ceased her tantrums. She still cries sometimes at night, not the tears of a simple child, but the tears of grief, pain, and Corvo will always comfort her, stay by her side until she falls asleep. 

Corvo agrees to stay for breakfast, and Emily beams, clearly brightening up, reaching out for his left hand. 

Corvo thinks she’s trying to pull him towards the door when he feels a button come undone at the sleeve cuff, and he quickly jerks back, buttoning it back up, keeping the cuff securely wrapped over the Outsider’s mark. 

“I told you not to do that, Emily.” Corvo tells her in a firm tone.

“Sorry.” Emily apologises, peeking up at Corvo tentatively. 

When Corvo’s face softens, she smiles again, proceeding to drag him out towards the door. 

Breakfast passes quickly, and the two of them leave to complete a long list of political visits for the day. 

The first meeting goes without a hitch, and Emily is almost cheerful when it ends. 

But then everything quickly goes downhill from there, concealed insults thrown back and forth like a sword duel, and by the time it is late afternoon, both Emily and Corvo are exhausted. They still have one more meeting before their day ends, and Corvo gently squeezes Emily’s shoulder in encouragement as they head out once again.

They are meeting with Lord Rinlow next.

Corvo knows little of the man, except that he wants to get Emily’s support in the construction of a new mine in the Batista District, going against the will of the current owner, Aramis Stilton. Corvo had read up on the situation in the district back in Dunwall, and he had briefed Emily about it earlier in the morning to prepare her. Lord Rinlow invited them to their home as a casual visit, but Corvo knows that he has an ulterior motive, presumably to get Emily’s approval in building his new mine. 

Lord Rinlow is a more pompous man than Corvo initially imagined. He looks almost like Sokolov with such a heavy beard occupying more than half of his face. 

“Ah, Empress Emily Kaldwin, and of course, the Royal Protector.” He greets, bowing deeply. “It’s a great pleasure to invite you into my home.” 

“The pleasure is mine, Rinlow.” Emily smiles, and does her best to hide the child-like undertones in her voice. 

Corvo doesn’t like the gaze Rinlow makes at Emily, a patronising, arrogant look that Corvo immediately resents. This meeting probably isn’t going to end well, Corvo sighs internally. 

Rinlow gives a tour of his home, taking great care to emphasise on his treasures and wealth, and it is almost two hours later that Corvo and Emily get to head to the meeting room to actually start their discussion. 

Tea is served, and Emily drinks it out of politeness, even though she hates the bitter drink (she typically drinks tea with honey-sweetened goat milk back in Dunwall). 

“…As you know, mining silver here is a lucrative business. The demand for silver is at an all-time high, mining the mineral is very profitable these days. The new mine I intend to construct will be located in the Batista District, and I am willing to invest the capital needed to purchase advanced equipment needed for its construction. This new mine will create fresh jobs for Serkonans everywhere, relieve the _terrible_ unemployment issue there.” 

Rinlow shakes his head, as though sympathetic, but Corvo can see the mocking, hating shine in his eyes that suggests otherwise. 

“It will be a much-needed boost to the industry, and with trade negotiations between Serkonos and Gristol underway, I have no doubt that Gristol can share in some of its revenue, profit as well.” 

Rinlow smiles. 

“The one problem now is that I simply cannot construct the mine without the approval of Aramis Stilton, the owner. He is a foolish, short-sighted man, and he fervently _rejects_ my proposal, even though there’s nothing but profit to be seen. But…with your support, perhaps persuading him will be a lot easier.” 

Rinlow stops, waiting for a reply, and Emily purposefully takes a long sip from her teacup to buy time. 

“I fully sympathise with your situation, Rinlow.” Emily says slowly. “But from my knowledge, the Batista District is currently saturated with mines. Silver dust from the mines is an environmental concern there, and constructing another mine will not help the situation. That is Stilton’s reason for rejecting your proposal, is it not?” 

Corvo stays silent by her side. He had briefed her beforehand, and Emily did a great job in memorising what Corvo said, word for word. 

Rinlow’s eyebrows furrow, and his lips tighten into a line. 

“Stilton doesn’t understand.” Rinlow’s voice turns rough, resentful. “There’s _profit_ here to be gained, can you not see?” 

“The people’s well-being is at stake her-” 

“The people don’t matter. They’re just _people_ , workers. They can be replaced with enough coin.” Rinlow rudely interrupts Emily. 

“ _Coin_ is not what I’m concerned about. Their health is at risk-” Emily’s voice is raising, and she takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I simply cannot condone such a proposal.”

There is a pause. 

“I will be ready to part with a percentage of profits for your Imperial Majesty each year. We will both profit from this plan.” 

“Are you trying to _bribe_ me, Rinlow?” Emily’s agitated now, her grip on the teacup is very tight. 

“Bribe is not the right word, rather, a mutually beneficial relationship.” 

“That will not change my mind.” Emily states, as firm as she can be. 

“There’s so much money to be earned here. How can you give up such an opportunity?” Rinlow’s fist is clenched on the table, and his voice is tremoring, trying to reel his temper back in.

“My apologies Rinlow, but I will not agree to this.” 

And then Rinlow snaps, fist slamming on against the table. Emily startles. 

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re just a _child!_ What do you know of our plight? You were born into luxury and riches, us nobles have to fight for it!! This mine will boost my family’s value three-fold! Three-fold!!” 

“I still won’t approv-” Emily is trying very hard to stay calm now. 

“You can’t be this unreasonable!! You’re only a child, you know nothing!!” 

Emily turns very red at that. It is a weak spot for her, being referred to as a child. Corvo knows she’s trying her best to grow up as fast as possible, to hold her own ground against the poisonous nobles without help, but she’s simply too young. There is nothing in Corvo that wants to see her in such a position. He hates to see her try and try, and ultimately fall short, but there is no choice. Jessamine is dead, and Emily – whether she likes it or not – has to rise to the occasion, take the throne with as much power and authority as she can muster to dissuade a coup from occurring. 

“You’re being unreasonable, you swine!! How dare you put the lives of people in jeopardy for your own selfishness!!” 

“Petulant, unreasonable, and spoilt. No wonder your mother was _gutted like a dog_.” Rinlow snarls, and Emily completely loses it. 

“Don’t talk of my mother you pig-headed moron!” Emily screams back. 

Corvo just sighs internally, as the meeting devolves into a shouting match. There are servants and guards everywhere in the room, but the two don’t care one bit. They start trading insults over the table, on their feet and slamming their fists against the table like barbarians. 

“Stupid brat!” 

“Arrogant jerk-face!” 

Corvo’s patience is running dry. He’s tired, exhausted, he has a damn investigation still ongoing, and he has to deal with greedy nobles that insist on acting like _children_. He walks a few steps over to the centre of the table - nobody pays him any mind, still absorbed in calling each other a creative, offensive mix of names. 

“You little fuc-”

Corvo’s eye twitches at the incoming swear. His fingers circle around the hilt of his sword, viciously slammed down into the table within a blistering second, a loud crack as the wood splinters on impact. 

Rinlow jumps, and falls silent immediately after. 

“That is enough.” Corvo says quietly, his very words thickening the atmosphere in the air. 

Corvo hooks his sword back. The whole room is silent. Nobody dares to move, not the servants, not the guards, and certainly _not_ Rinlow. 

“Lady Emily has made her decision. I will not tolerate any further disrespect.” 

Corvo’s tone is quiet, but Rinlow swallows anyway.

“I’m certain Stilton has made you aware of his reason for refusal. Of the health hazard that excessive silver dust brings. Damage to the lungs, throat, eyes. Putting that many people at risk simply for monetary gain is unacceptable, short-sighted, _selfish._ ” 

Rinlow reddens. 

“You used to own a few textile factories, didn’t you? Two of them were overtaken by rioting workers. When the guardsmen came to investigate, they found hazardous working conditions, poor treatment of workers. You run them like _slaves_. You think money will buy you workers, loyalty, but the very people you hired took your business down within _days_.” 

“Do you know what that tells me, Rinlow? You have a penchant for coin. You are _obsessed_ with it. You will stop at nothing to get it, not even if it places people at risk, not even at the cost of lives. With such an ugly history behind you, and your _deplorable_ behaviour today, what is there to persuade me that you are capable of changing your ways?” 

“Believe it or not, we came here with the best intentions, and you take our good grace for granted. You knew that if you got Lady Emily’s approval, Stilton wouldn’t dare defy her, for fear of inciting political unrest, and your plan would go through without a hitch. And now that you _don’t_ get that approval, you resort to juvenile name-calling and disrespect to get your way.”

Rinlow is completely flushed now, with both fury and humiliation, but he doesn’t dare interrupt Corvo, not when Corvo is making the very air crackle with tension. 

“Now, if you’re done with your _childish_ acts, Lady Emily and I will be on our way. Thank you for your _kind_ hospitality.” 

Corvo bows, walks over to Emily - who is staring at him wide-eyed – offers her a hand, and the pair immediately walk out of the doors, leaving a positively enraged but subdued Lord Rinlow alone in his own apartment. 

Emily follows Corvo out, quiet, and when they are in the car, finally alone, Emily tugs on Corvo’s sleeve. 

“I’m sorry, Corvo. I didn’t mean to do that.” Emily mumbles. 

“I know you didn’t mean to.” Corvo gently tells her. 

“I’m just- I’m no good at this. Mother was better.” Emily sniffles. “I wish I was like her. Everyone listened to her. Everyone listens to _you_. But nobody listens to me. Please don’t be angry. I’m sorry.” 

And then she starts to cry, the stress from everything breaking free as she tries to wipe away the tears that won’t stop flowing. 

Corvo’s heart breaks. 

Corvo pulls her in, soothingly rubbing across her back, her hair. Emily buries in. 

“You did a wonderful job, Emily. You’re strong and brave, and I’m so proud of you. You didn’t do anything wrong, okay? You did well. I’m not angry with you. I’m _not_.” 

Emily balls her fists around Corvo’s coat, pushing closer. 

Corvo’s heart just breaks further. 

_I’m sorry_ , he wants to say.

_I’m sorry you have to suffer like this. I’m sorry I couldn’t save Jessamine. I’m sorry I can’t make you happy. I’m so, so sorry_ , he wants to say, but the words are choked in his throat, and Corvo just hugs her tighter. 

A long minute passes before Emily calms down. 

“He is a mean old fart! Jerk-face! Pig! Swine!” Emily screams into Corvo’s coat, clutching on tightly. 

“He is.” Corvo agrees, cracking a smile, fondly brushing over Emily’s hair when she peeks out from his coat, eyes now dry. Emily grins back, the childish happiness so relieving to Corvo, and he gently presses a soft kiss to her forehead. 

Emily briefly hugs him once more, before letting go, and their day continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just apologise in advance, but the next chapter will probably be a little later than usual. I'm sorry! I need a little more time to go look through the chapter and polish it up before posting. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you and I hope you enjoyed this chapter :) 
> 
> (Also, Dishonored 2 is finally out! :D My first playthrough is with Emily, and I'm loving it. I'm pretty slow in the game, I haven't finished it yet, but everything looks amazing so far! I hope everyone has been enjoying the game too!)


	17. A Turn of Events

There is a cup of coffee beside Daud, now cold. After Corvo left, he’s spent _hours_ just sifting through all the papers regarding the Leviathan Children, to make sure he hadn’t missed out anything crucial. 

He’s nearly able to recite everything on the papers by heart now, and by the time late afternoon rolls by, Daud’s on his fifth cup of coffee, struggling to focus. The words are starting to blur, mashing together in incoherent sentences, and Daud grimaces, downing another gulp of coffee. The bitter taste in the liquid helps wash off some of the weariness at his eyes, but its impact is barely noticeable now after so many sleepless nights.

Daud sighs, and gets up from the chair. He wants a short break, a distraction maybe, but his mind fervently dispels the idea. The Leviathan Children _don’t_ take breaks, and the longer Daud takes to uncover them, the more lives would be lost. 

_Perhaps it could even be one of his whalers._

The thought instantly wipes away any wistful thought of relaxation, and Daud quickly musters up whatever energy is left in him to scan through the papers one last time. 

Daud is certainly not new to investigations like this, he has done a fair share of those back in Dunwall, and he’s usually very proficient in solving all of them; Daud’s forte is in uncovering secrets and mysteries after all. The toughest investigation of them all had been Delilah, elusive witch as she was, but even Daud eventually solved it. It took multiple travels all over Dunwall, to a slaughterhouse, to the Legal District, to Coldridge Prison, even down the sewers in Drapers’ Ward (which Daud especially hated), but at the end of all that, he finally stopped Delilah. 

So why is it that the Leviathan Children just…alludes him? 

It should be straightforward, simple. They operate in broad daylight, Daud knows who they target, Daud knows how they kill their targets, Daud knows so much more about them than he ever did for Delilah, so why is it that they still remain a mystery? 

Daud knows he’s missing something crucial, maybe he overlooked something, maybe something he collected was inaccurate, wrong, or maybe he’s looking in a completely wrong direction.

It frustrates him to no end, knowing that he’s unable to solve this mystery. 

He casts a look at the list of nobles that rejected the trade agreement yet again. With Corvo’s help, they have completely nearly half of the list the night before, although they didn’t uncover anything particularly incriminating. 

It is worrisome that they aren’t able to find anything, but Daud doesn’t want to give it up just yet. Perhaps tonight they will discover something when they go through the rest of the list. 

But somehow, Daud’s gut is telling him otherwise. Maybe it’s because he’s already searched their homes once himself, or something else entirely, Daud isn’t sure.

He then thinks about Corvo, and he frowns even more. 

Corvo was acting very strange yesterday. Corvo’s usually expressionless, it’s extremely hard to discern what he’s thinking, he’s always on guard around Daud, even his whalers, and the only time Daud actually saw that defensive layer over his eyes fall was when he was talking with Emily. It was the only time Corvo ever truly looked at ease. But yesterday, something had been bothering Corvo, stealing his attention and contorting his face into this stiff, ice-like expression that made all the hairs stand on Daud’s neck. 

Corvo actually looked _horrified_. Horrified at what, Daud still has no idea, but he knows better than to pry. He knows that it is best to just drop the subject, forget about it altogether, but somewhere inside Daud, the newfound mystery is digging its way in, like some insistent ache that won’t go away. 

What is bothering Corvo? 

Before Daud lets his mind fully settle on it, he immediately shakes it aside, thinking of the investigation. 

The Leviathan Children comes first. Anything else is secondary. Daud can go back to finding out about everything related to Corvo _after_ he’s handled the Leviathan Children. 

Daud lets out a breath, and quickly reels his thoughts back in. He gives the papers a quick browse once more, taking the final gulps of cold coffee.

When he heads back downstairs to get a refill, he looks out of the window to check the time. The sun is already setting; the last hues of red and yellow are already disappearing, and soon, the entirety of Serkonos will be thrown into darkness. 

Feodor is downstairs, and he briefly nods at Daud in acknowledgement when Daud reaches the bottom of the stairs. 

Daud does a quick count of his whalers, eyes scanning the room quickly. Nearly all of them are back. Devon and Thomas aren’t home yet, they usually come home a little later, but Daud isn’t worried for them. Both of them are extremely well-trained. They’re even better than the elite guards here in Serkonos, and Daud has no doubt that they will be able to defend themselves just fine. 

What is worrisome is that _Kent_ isn’t back yet. Ever since that brutal killing about a week ago, Kent had promised to come back home before sunset.

Ralph is already home, he’s playing with the rest of the children in the backyard, but _Kent_ isn’t back yet, and a ball of anxiety suddenly winds up within Daud as the worst possibilities flicker through his mind. 

Blood. Wrists slit. Necks broken. Skulls bashed in. 

Daud swallows once. 

He shouldn’t worry. Kent has the arcane bond, he already has an edge compared to ordinary people, but what if he was taken by surprise? What if he was attacked? He has practically no combat training. 

The mere thought of Kent getting hurt makes Daud’s stomach light up with this horrible ice-cold feeling, and Daud’s grip on his empty coffee cup tightens fractionally. 

Where is Kent? 

He asks Ralph, and the boy says that Kent is treating a patient that came in at the last minute, and Daud relaxes, just a little. 

Daud goes to the kitchen to get a coffee refill, trying to cast aside all his needless worries. 

Kent will be fine. Although he can’t protect himself like the other whalers can, he’s smart, able to figure a way out of any situation. That is always one of his strongest points.

But even so, all the whalers (and Daud) are still quite protective over him, especially so since the killings started. The whalers keep trying to find excuses to accompany him home, which Kent often got a little upset over (Daud has admittedly followed him home secretly from the rooftops multiple times himself). 

Today though, he’s _especially_ late, and as the light continues to die down, that chilling sensation at the pit of Daud’s stomach only intensifies. 

Feodor is also glancing out of the window frequently, he’s clearly worried too. 

When Daud finishes his coffee, Kent is still not back, and all his previous weariness is completely gone. Everything about the Leviathan Children and Corvo have suddenly become so trivial, and all Daud wants to see is that Kent is _alright_. 

He starts making his way to the inn door. 

“I’ll come too, Daud.” Feodor says hurriedly. 

Daud only grunts in response, and he takes to the rooftops in a single blink, Feodor following close behind.

He just wants to make sure Kent is _safe_.

\----------

Kent hasn’t anticipated that he would take this much time with the last patient, a man who’d gotten many wooden splinters imbedded in his arm while performing repairs on his ship. Kent had to painstakingly pull them all out one by one, and by the time he is done, the sun is close to setting, and trepidation is slowly creeping up on him.

Those dreadful images on the newspapers are still fresh in his mind (why did the newspapers choose _those_ images anyway?) and his heart has started palpitating at unnerving speed in response to those bloody images. 

Kent casts a brief glance out of the glass window. 

Dark shadows have started creeping past the walls, it’s getting quite late, and Kent would be lying if he said the impending darkness doesn’t scare him. 

Kent shudders, picking up pace. 

When he’s finally ready to lock up the place and leave, he steps out of the clinic with certain apprehension, like a mouse peeking out from its burrow. 

The whole place is deathly quiet, eerily so. Everyone has been going home much earlier than usual ever since the killings escalated, and the streets are completely empty. 

Every single tiny sound - even the insects chirping in the distance – sounds deafening, foreboding almost. 

Kent gulps once. 

Suddenly, all those times that his brothers have come by to bring him back home don’t sound so annoying, more welcome than annoying, and he half-hopes to see Feodor, Devon or even Daud, waiting for him outside. 

Part of his mind desperately reminds him that the Leviathan Children mostly attack at the docks, they aim their attacks at sailors, anyone who works in the sea trade. Kent is just a measly physician, working far from the docks. 

He’s safe…right? 

Kent turns to lock the door. 

When the click of the lock resounds, Kent’s heart does a jump along with the sound, and he tries to calm himself. 

He’s safe. He’s _safe_. Nobody is going to attack him, nobody is going to get hurt, and nobody is going to die. He’s safe. 

But some traitorous part of his mind squirms out past the thick layer of thoughts to pull up the gruesome images of the murder a week ago. 

Every shred of courage vanishes at that. 

Everything feels so still, so empty, and so…unnerving. Kent normally pays it no mind, very used to the stillness, but today, for some reason, everything feels _wrong_. Maybe it’s his fear talking, maybe it’s because Ralph isn’t with him today, or maybe something else entirely. 

Just then, a dark shadow flickers across the unmoving landscape. Kent instantly startles and slams back against the door, a loud crash breaking the suffocating silence in the air. 

Wha-

A figure comes into view. 

Kent’s heart is thundering in his ears, his breathing has fallen into short gasps, and he immediately focuses on the shadowed figure.

Tall, clearly feminine. 

Kent recognises the silhouette, and his shoulders immediately relax. 

“You scared me, Adrielle.” 

Adrielle stands a few steps away from Kent, curly hair fluttering with the wind. Had she been waiting here for Kent? How long did she just…stand there?

“I was worried.” She says simply, blue eyes nearly black under the dim light. 

There’s something in her tone that feels strange, like a music note out of place, but the bloody images are still running through Kent’s mind, and he quickly forgets about it, taking comfort in her presence. 

“I’ll walk you home.” 

In a stride, Adrielle wraps two hands around Kent’s arm, resting her chin on Kent’s shoulder. She’s warm, and she smells of the same floral perfume she uses all the time. 

“I’ll be fine.” Kent cracks a smile. 

“ _Please_.” 

Adrielle’s grip tightens, and Kent falters. 

He thinks about those images again, and suddenly, the prospect of having company doesn’t sound so bad anymore. 

Kent meets Adrielle’s eyes. Her blue eyes look startlingly similar to crystals up close, glittering in the last traces of daylight. 

Something in Kent gives way. 

“…Just today.” 

Adrielle flashes a short grin, one that doesn’t quite meet her eyes, and she starts to walk alongside Kent as he makes his way down the secluded streets. 

Kent just keeps repeating “I’m safe” over and over in his mind, like some devout Overseer reciting the strictures, and tries his best to ignore the thumping of his own heart. 

The streets are too quiet. Usually, Kent would want some noise to distract him from the heavy silence, but this time, he takes each step with care, trying to prolong the silence as much as possible. If it’s quieter, he reasons, he’ll be able to pick up on any sound that comes by-

“-Let’s go here.” 

Kent snaps up, and he blinks strangely at Adrielle.

She’s pointing towards to a left turn, down a different street. It would take much longer to get home if he goes there.

…Why would she suggest to go there? 

“It’s longer.” Kent frowns. “It’s shorter if we go here.” 

Adrielle flashes Kent a strange smile, somehow making all the hairs on his back stand, but she obliges and follows Kent down the street. 

The street is empty, silent too, and the air feels thick. 

Something feels very wrong. 

Kent looks over to all the shop houses lining the sides of the street. All of them are shuttered, and the usually lively street is cast in desolate grey, no sign of the cheerful life it used to possess merely a month ago. This was where Kent was with Corvo a year ago, eating lunch, buying ginger beer, and today, it looks as though the plague swept through it, sucking every bit of life out from it. 

It reminds Kent of the barren streets of Dunwall during the plague. Everywhere stunk of the dead, rotten bodies strewn everywhere. It was also terribly quiet, but the silence only seemed to add to the sense of danger in the air. Kent had hated those days. Feeling afraid all the time, knowing you could die any moment. 

And now, Kent can feel that same dread sinking in, with a disturbing familiarity. Every noise feels amplified, and every small movement makes Kent flinch. 

_He’s safe_. Kent reminds himself. He’s going to go home, see Feodor and Devon bicker as usual, see Zachary skulking at the side, see Daud frowning and most likely, reading some kind of book from his ever-growing collection of books. 

The memory calms him, just a little, and Kent takes the next few steps down the street with more confidence. 

Adrielle isn’t talking, which is very strange. She gets nervous about the Leviathan Children as well, but usually she hides her fear, cheerily talking to distract herself from the prospect of getting horribly maimed. Her footsteps are also terribly quiet, Kent has never noticed how silent she is when walking, not until it is brought to his attention like this. 

All the dark shadows descending from the sky feel like sharp claws, ready to sink in and tear apart everything in its way. 

Why is it so quiet? 

Kent’s heart thumps, blood gushing through his ears. 

_Once_. 

Something darts past the background, fading into the darkness that’s _everywhere_. 

_Twice._

The skin on Kent’s neck is burning, his spine pulsing with sharp bolts of alarm. 

_Thrice_.

There is a very ominous pause, as though time itself stopped and everything ceased existing except for Kent and his thundering heartbeat. 

There’s something very wrong here. 

“Adrielle..?” 

Kent’s voice feels muffled, swallowed by thick ropes of shadows. 

He turns back, swivelling on his feet. 

Adrielle is nowhere to be seen. 

Where-

And Kent is yanked back roughly by the back of his shirt collar. 

Every inch of Kent’s skin starts to burn, but before he can react, or do _anything_ , something cold and sharp presses to his delicate throat, squeezing down on his artery. Kent is about to scream, but a hand from behind covers his mouth, sickeningly warm, and Kent’s cry is immediately silenced. 

All thoughts evaporate, and he freezes completely.

\----------

Daud is jumping from rooftop to rooftop, blinking, even though his mark is ice-cold and sounding its protest against such a fierce usage of magic.

It is too silent everywhere, the air feels wrong, and something in Daud’s gut is screaming, melting past his stomach and drenching his whole body in this terrible, foreboding feeling. 

The horrific image of Kent getting hurt, or worse, _killed_ , is now a constant gnawing thought, and Daud swallows a grimace, trying to reel his thoughts back in. Letting all that fear overtake him will cloud his thoughts, make him impulsive, irrational. He can’t afford that. 

_Where is Kent?_

Feodor is barely keeping up with Daud’s pace, he’s panting and sweating heavily, but Daud doesn’t falter. 

He needs to find Kent. _Now_. 

Something feels wrong, _everything feels wrong!_ Every dark patch looks like blood from the distance, while every gleaming shine looks like a knife. 

Daud curses internally. 

Who knew he actually cared this much about the young physician? Who knew his whalers meant so much to him? Not until they were in danger, not until they could be _hurt_. 

Daud’s stomach twists in a terrible, agonising way when he thinks that. 

Had this been what Corvo felt when Daud unfairly stole Jessamine from him and kidnapped his daughter? Corvo didn’t even have the chance to react or fight back then, Daud just tore away everything Corvo loved in a single instant. 

And only now does Daud know how _horrible_ that feels, that pulsing fear, that blind desperation to see that everything is just a dream. 

Daud struggles to swallow, the lump in his throat feels like stone now, and he picks up pace, forcing his mark to flare, over and over as he summons every last bit of magic he can muster from his veins. 

The last time he came close to feeling such heavy anxiety was when the Flooded District was stormed by Overseers. 

Seeing his own whalers killed or captured made Daud so _furious_ , and it took everything from him not to kill all the Overseers in cold blood. He’d been worried about Kent too, the young physician was the most innocent of them all, and just the thought of him killed by the Overseers merely due to his affiliation to Daud was a burden Daud couldn’t bear. He had been so relieved to see Kent unharmed, _safe_ , but Daud still remembers that gut-wrenching sensation, as though he’d been punched in the stomach over and over. 

Daud shudders involuntarily at that, and he forces himself to go even faster, despite the stinging pain rushing from his marked hand. 

Right now, he just wants Kent _safe_. 

He asks for nothing else. 

He’s quickly scanning the streets as he jumps from rooftop to rooftop, but there’s still no sign of Kent, and the anxiety continues to wind up within Daud like a springrazor, coiling up further. 

And then, he hears a sharp yell in the distance. 

A pulsing chill surges down his spine. The anxiety in him finally snaps, all that wound-up tension breaking free, and Daud is sprinting towards the direction of the sound, ignoring his fatigue, ignoring how much noise he’s making. 

The maelstrom of horrific thoughts that Daud has kept back with a calculated calmness breaks free, wiping away any composure he has left.

Within two blinks, he reaches the edge of the rooftop overlooking the place the yell originated from. 

The sight before him makes his mind go completely blank. 

Kent is on the ground, shaking, eyes polluted with sharp fear. 

He’s staring at somebody, or _something_ , near the alleyway. 

Daud’s eyes follow his line of sight and- 

A body is motionless at the corner, still. Dead. Lying in a dark puddle at the alleyway. Its unmistakeable shade, viscosity…it is _blood_. 

And on top all of that, a woman stands above the puddle, dark stains seeping into her clothes. Her hair is tousled, strands running free in all directions. 

“-Adrielle.” 

The single gasp from Kent makes a dark, electrifying chill go down Daud’s spine. Daud’s shaking, he can barely hear anything past the thunderous beating of his own heart. There’s a hot, intense sensation boiling up his body, dark and frenzied. 

So many thoughts are bursting in, Daud’s conscious mind can’t register everything, but his body is already moving, fuelled by that blistering sensation, like waves crashing against the shore.

_She hurt Kent._

Energy starts sparking off him, a fire ready to burst out and burn everything away to ashes. He can’t think, and all he’s focused on is that blazing sensation inside him. 

He’s _furious_. 

Adrielle is Kent’s lover. Kent took years to open up to her. It took years for him to give her a chance, he gave her his trust, his _love_ , Daud was happy for him, and she-

_She hurt Kent._

Why didn’t Daud see this coming?

Why couldn’t he protect Kent? 

Daud’s grip on his knife is unyielding, his fingernails digging in hard into his palm. The only thing preventing him from turning that traitorous _bitch_ into ribbons of flesh is Kent, and he turns to Feodor. 

“Get Kent.” 

It doesn’t even sound like his voice. Too rough, too harsh, too cold. 

Feodor nods, but Daud doesn’t even see it, eyes transfixed on _her_ , Adrielle, Kent’s lover, a traitor. 

Kent never talked about her, Daud never even met her once, but Daud could see how happy he was to be with her, with Adrielle, and-

_She hurt Kent._

Feodor appears in a burst of ashes below, wrapping his arms around Kent within a single second. All Kent manages to get out is “Wha-” before Feodor takes him away, disappearing away into the Serkonan night. 

Now with Kent gone, Daud sets his eyes on the woman – Adrielle. 

His mind is still blank, white-hot rage burning away any thought that tries to surface. 

“You hurt him.” 

It isn’t a shout, closer to a whisper than a shout, but the air starts to burn in response to the vitriol soaked in Daud’s voice. 

“I di-”

Daud doesn’t hear the rest of what she says, everything fades away apart from the sheer fury within him. 

He recognises the voice.

It is the same voice of somebody he’d met years ago. 

In the Drapers’ Ward back in Dunwall. 

In a sewer stinking of ammonia and rotten flesh. 

Daud had been there to get back Lizzy Stride’s engine coil, to take him to Brigmore Manor to finally face off with Delilah Copperspoon. He was sent into the sewers by Nurse Trimble to get the water flowing again. 

That was where he met _her_.

Dressed in the tattered remains of silken clothes with a veil over half her face, she reeked of roses, with the barest stench of sour, metallic blood. 

Claiming she fell down and injured herself while looking for her lost babe. 

_Begging_ for Daud’s help with a false-sweet sting in her voice. 

Daud remembers standing before her, narrowing his eyes at her – a strange woman then – and immediately seeing through her lie. 

She was no helpless damsel. 

She was gifted with supernatural powers, evident from the vines wrapped around her body and putrid stench of roses. 

One of Delilah’s. 

_A witch_. 

“I think I can walk if you’ll just help me up.” She had said, and Daud nearly laughed out loud. 

Who did she think he was? 

Daud was the Knife of Dunwall, certainly not one to be swayed by a pretty face and a high voice. Part of Daud had been amused almost, another part insulted, and yet another part furious.

Daud remembered Delilah, remembered that he’d spent nearly the whole day at Drapers’ Ward, going back and forth over and over between the Dead Eels and the Hatters. He wasn’t feeling very merciful anymore, not when he was this fatigued. 

“Clever.” Daud scoffed as he reached out to grab her wrist. 

He ran a knife straight through her forearm, skewering her whole arm though the muscle. She had screamed, an expression of _real_ pain replacing the fake one, and Daud merely used the knife to bend her arm out, holding it there. 

“I almost had you, Daud. You could have had an easy death.” 

Something in Daud snapped, and the very last bit of his patience faded away. He was reminded of how annoyed he was, how exhausted he was. He’d been chasing Delilah for weeks and weeks, and he wasn’t going to get held up by some fucking actress that thought she could actually deceive him.

He was tired of all this fucking bullshit.

Daud let loose some of that anger, he twisted her arm back, with a sharp jerk, felt her joints give way. A dark satisfaction blossomed as the loud crack resounded, and the woman yelled again, her other arm trembling as she tried to push Daud away. 

But Daud didn’t let go. 

He was pissed off. 

“Tell me what Delilah’s doing at Brigmore.” 

She rambled on about some secret throne, some stupidly vague plan, and Daud just gave up. He knew he wasn’t going to get anything out from her. Daud knocked her out with a vicious blow to the head. 

And here, years later, she’s _back_. 

Playing the same fucking game. Pretending, faking, deceiving. 

_And she hurt Kent._

No thoughts follow after that.

The last bit of Daud’s self-control completely falls apart. All the fury consumes him whole, and everything goes dark as he raises his sword to her for the second time.

\----------

When Corvo reaches the inn, he instantly knows that something is wrong.

There is yelling and screaming coming from the inn, and Corvo recognises the voices as Feodor, and…Kent..? 

There is a loud crash, and Corvo darts towards the inn, opening the doors. 

A chair has been harshly thrown to the floor, overturned, and the two men are at opposite sides, yelling at each other. The other whalers are at the side, clearly very confused and at a loss of what to do. 

Still preoccupied in their argument, they don’t notice Corvo come in at all. Corvo is nearly at the middle when Devon notices him, and he shoots Corvo a helpless look, nearly begging him to do something. 

Corvo has never seen Kent like this before. His entire face is red, not from embarrassment, but from sheer anger and frustration. Tears are lining the edges of his eyes, he’s trembling from the intensity of all the emotion. He’s clearly very distressed. 

“-Why did you do that?!” Kent basically screams. 

Feodor is equally upset. He’s furious, but at the same time, pained. He is gripping Kent’s wrist, all while Kent struggles to pull away. 

What is happening? Why are they fighting? 

“We saved you Kent!”

“You didn’t save-” 

“She was going to _kill_ you!!” Feodor shouts back, equally exasperated. 

“You’re not _listening_ to me. Let me go-” Kent snarls, tugging his hand back. 

And Corvo finally opens his mouth, remaining calm. 

“What’s going on?” Corvo’s voice cuts through their yells, and the two men finally notice his presence, quietening down for a stunned moment. 

Kent’s eyes widen upon seeing him. 

“Corvo- I, you have to listen to me. Please-” Kent pulls on his trapped arm, and his voice raises to a shout. “Just _let me go already!!!_ ” 

“He’s confused, Corvo.” Feodor breaks in. 

Corvo stops, looking at them both. Kent has never looked this upset before, his eyes are burning with the desperate need to be heard. On the other hand, Feodor looks upset too, and equally desperate. 

“What happened?” 

Feodor is the first to respond, and he immediately says, 

“It was _her_ \- Adrielle. She –” 

Corvo frowns at the mention of Adrielle. Isn’t she Kent’s lover? What exactly happened to make them both this upset? 

“- That _bitch_ tried to hurt Kent.” 

Something in the trembling physician completely tears away when Feodor says that. Corvo sees the fury in Kent’s eyes bubble up and explode out. 

“ _DON'T CALL HER THAT!!_ ” Kent snaps, voice breaking as it reaches a thunderous volume. “YOU'RE WRONG!! YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME AT ALL!!” 

Kent lets out a strangled sob, and tears start to flow out. All frustration immediately vanishes from Feodor, and he looks horrified at making his dear friend break down and cry. He lets go of Kent’s hand, and the distraught physician crumples to the floor, sobbing.

“Calm down. Tell me what happened, Kent.” Corvo kneels down and places a hand on Kent’s shoulder, gently trying to soothe him. 

It takes a long minute for Kent to speak again.

“I-I was going back home. Adrielle insisted on following me, and I let her-” 

A sob. 

“Som-Somebody came out from an alley, attacked me. Tried to kill me. It was-” 

“It was Adrielle.” Feodor finishes, mostly dejected now, and Kent shakes his head violently.

“You don’t understand.” Kent wipes his tears away. 

“She wasn’t- The one who attacked me was a _man_.”

Another sob.

“Adrielle wasn't the one who attacked me. She was trying to _protect_ me. She’s the one that killed the attacker, she protected me. It wasn’t - It wasn’t her.” 

Loud sobs start to wreck Kent’s body, and Corvo continues to rub his back. 

“I- what?” Feodor starts to pale. “She didn’t-”

Feodor swallows. 

“Adrielle saved you..?”

But Kent is too distressed to say anything, and Feodor looks up at Corvo, now very horrified. 

“Daud, he…he’s going to kill her.” 

Everything clicks into place as realisation dawns on Corvo. 

Kent got attacked by the Leviathan Children. Adrielle _saved_ him, but Daud mistakenly thought that she was the one that attacked Kent. 

_And he’s going to kill her_. 

Corvo recalls the secret glow Kent had when he saw Adrielle a year ago, and how that bright glow reminded Corvo of Jessamine. 

Kent _loves_ Adrielle. 

And he’s about to lose her. 

Like how Corvo lost Jessamine. 

Corvo's stomach does a sickening lurch, and he’s immediately off the ground and out of the inn, mark flaring.

He can’t let that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I took this long to get this chapter out! I just wanted to make sure it was the best I could make it to be with all the crazy things happening in this chapter. I hope it meets your expectations..? Well I really hope it does. :P 
> 
> Anyway thank you for reading :D 
> 
> ((I hope everyone's having fun with Dishonored 2! What is your favourite thing in the game so far? Mine is most definitely the secret meaning to the _Dreadful Wale_. Thank you to the certain somebody for letting me know! ;) Also to this somebody: Hello! ))


	18. New Revelations

Corvo’s thoughts are running rampant, swept around like a whirlwind in his own mind, and he just can’t seem to form a single coherent thought. It is chilly outside, a lot colder than usual, but Corvo doesn’t feel any of it. Instead, his body feels feverish hot, every fibre of his being is burning with a horrible dread just thinking about Kent’s distraught face, and he forces himself to go even faster, completely disregarding the way his mark sears in retaliation. 

He needs to save Adrielle. 

All of Corvo’s senses are on high alert. His eyes are tracking every detail as he whizzes past each building, his ears are ready to pick up the faintest sound, and his nose is waiting to catch the whiff of metallic blood. His mind, however, is being plagued by a constant onslaught of flashbacks, more specifically, the horrific day of which he lost Jessamine. 

It wasn’t a happy day to begin with in the first place, with the Rat Plague getting worse each day. Corvo was coming back from months of travelling to bring bad news to his lovely empress: that he couldn’t find a cure to the Rat Plague. 

He had been dreading it, dreading the way Jessamine’s face would contort in that horrible, worried fashion, releasing that empty sigh of despair that became familiar to Corvo ever since the plague started. He had failed her yet again, and Corvo hated to see beautiful Jessamine spew out any form of sorrow. 

Seeing Emily had cheered him up, just a little. Being able to see his daughter’s childish smile and innocent happiness during this dark time brought joy to Corvo, but even that was quickly muffled when he saw Jessamine’s tense form at the gazebo. 

He had thought the day couldn’t get any worse. He thought there was no way he could disappoint Jessamine one more time – one _final_ time. 

Not until Corvo was held immobile in the air by witchcraft, forced to watch as everything he loved was taken away from him all in a single second. The memory was still as vivid as ever, the sword thrust into Jessamine, the disgusting squelch, the strangled cry of pain and shock. 

Corvo seizes up for that short instant, paralysed- 

-and he misses a foothold at a rooftop, tumbling forth. 

His right hand instinctively comes out to break his fall, and Corvo hisses at the impact when his body crashes to the ground. He feels the skin at the palm tear, fresh pain blossoming as wetness forms at the injured area. Other parts of his body start to ache too, but Corvo pays all the pain no mind, scrambling back up into a sprint again. 

That day, he let down two of the most important people in Corvo’s world: Jessamine and Emily. 

He can’t let down another person again. _Never again_. He needs to save Adrielle.

Corvo knows he’s using too much magic, way beyond his usual limits. His arm is starting to turn numb, his head is hurting with a dull ache, but Corvo doesn’t care one bit as he continues making his way across the landscape, darting forth. 

And then Corvo hears a clank in the distance, very much like a blade clattering to the ground. 

Corvo immediately jerks in the direction, heart pounding as he abruptly halts, spins, and dashes towards the origin of the sound. 

His mark flares, and blink propels him forth in a flash of startling blue. Corvo drops into a roll as his feet touches the next rooftop – there is a sting of pain when he presses his weight into his injured palm – but he launches himself back into a sprint instantly as the world reorients itself, footsteps thundering against the roof tiles. 

Halfway down the rooftop, at the edge of Corvo’s vision, he spots Daud standing in the distance, looming over a woman – Adrielle. A fight must have broken out, Adrielle is panting heavily, whereas Daud has yet to break a sweat. Another motionless body lies behind her, surrounded in an unceremonious puddle of dark blood. 

A chill goes down Corvo’s spine. It doesn’t matter how many times he sees a dead body, each loss of life still feels as disconcerting as the first. 

Daud’s hand moves, and Corvo’s mind goes blank when he sees that tell-tale gleaming shine coming down. 

A knife, poised just above Adrielle’s chest. 

The chill in his body grows more electrifying, liquefying his muscles. 

Corvo recalls Jessamine, at the exact moment he saw the knife above her: her skin still intact, blood safely tucked within the network of vessels in her body, pumping life through her. The world had seemed to be at a standstill then, hanging at the edge of a knife, at that split second right before everything crashed down, all while Corvo soundlessly screamed for _anything_ to stop the inevitable. 

This exact moment is happening _again_.

Before Corvo is consciously aware of it, his mark flashes, sapping a large portion of his diminishing magic away as it sparks alight in a mix of blue and yellow. 

The air ceases all movement as time slows to a complete halt. Colour is sucked from the world, leaving only shades of white and black. A soul-sucking chill descends in a wave, filling every space with that terrible, smoky smell of the Void, as though Corvo has been suddenly transported to the bottom of the ocean, a sharp pressure pressed everywhere onto his skin. 

Corvo gasps. The air feels lifeless, dead, crushing almost, he will never get used to how wrong it feels. 

But Daud himself barely even notices anything. He’s unaffected by Corvo’s time stopping abilities, as Corvo should have expected. He doesn’t notice the change in the air, the smell of the Void, or even the sudden suffocating silence. His knife continues down its trajectory in a downward slash, _fast_. 

Corvo isn’t thinking. He’s long exhausted his magic, head spinning, limbs numb, but with the last remaining shred of willpower, he forces the Outsider’s mark to flare once more for a final blink. 

There is darkness for a fraction of a second, and when Corvo tumbles out back into existence, placing himself in between Daud and Adrielle, his body is immediately hit with waves of hot pain, his vision going fuzzy near the edges. His mark is searing, reminiscent of heat brands pressed to his tender skin in Coldridge, and Corvo feels his knees slam into the ground, the pain so dim among everything else as Daud’s face comes into view. 

The leader of the whalers is _furious_. That fire Corvo knows all too well in him is rampant, undeterred by anything now, primal and potent. Daud isn’t in control of himself, his eyes are blank, controlled solely by rage. 

Corvo blinks once, just to shake away the next wave of dizziness. When he opens his eyes, he sees Daud’s knife still coming in hot, now mere inches away from cutting vulnerable flesh. 

_Corvo’s flesh_.

Corvo could dodge it. 

He _should_. 

His whole body is screaming for him to do so. But Kent’s face flashes by his mind, then Jessamine. Emily. He remembers how he lost _everything_ that day, too shell-shocked to understand anything hours after. Corvo grits his teeth, fighting the next wave of pain. 

He would rather _die_ than to let anyone else go through the same thing he did.

Corvo shuts his eyes. 

And the knife slices in, shredding the thin fabric, drawing a long cut down Corvo’s whole forearm. 

His skin splits. 

The fresh pain, combined with everything else – the fatigue, the bruises and cuts – nearly whites out Corvo’s vision, and he gasps, blinking frantically. 

Warmth explodes at the wound, a dark stain spreading out, soaking the broken cloth fibres in blood. 

But still, Corvo throws himself back up, fingers curling around Daud’s wrist, preventing him from drawing another slash. 

“Daud, calm down.” 

The man stirs somewhat at the sound of his own name, and he blinks. Once, twice, before Corvo sees the rage in his eyes retreat somewhat to make space for the shine of conscious thought to return. 

“…Corvo?” 

And then, Corvo feels the surroundings waver, vibrate almost. His mark fizzles, and something akin to a thick woollen blanket collapses onto them. Colour returns to the world in patches, like ink splotches, and the air regains life, brushing across Corvo’s skin once again with that tangible, real touch. 

Time resumes. 

Adrielle lets out a startled yelp. The noise seems to reawaken all that fury in Daud, and Corvo sees it blow up in his eyes, evaporating away all of Daud’s self-control. 

He tightens his grip on Daud’s wrist, ignoring the searing pain down his cut arm. 

“Let me go.” Daud snarls. 

It isn’t a request. It is an order, and Corvo tightens his hold on Daud even more. 

“You need to calm down.” 

Daud lets out a deep growl from his chest, clearly not in a mood to listen, and tries to tug his arm back. Corvo holds him as still as he can. 

“Listen to me.” 

Corvo’s whole sleeve is drenched in warmth, blood has starting dripping to the ground, but he focuses on Daud still. 

The grey in Daud’s eyes is closer to sliver now, like molten metal, and the viciousness Corvo remembers from the first few times of meeting Daud is spewing out, burning through whatever his gaze meets. 

This isn’t Daud.

This is the Knife of Dunwall, the nightmarish monster, the legend, ready to put death itself to shame with the amount of blood he’ll let rain upon the earth. 

“Listen to me, she didn’t hurt Kent. Don’t hurt her.” 

But Daud isn’t interested in listening. His eyes are still blank with rage, and the man tries to dislodge Corvo’s unrelenting grip on his wrist with another growl. 

This isn’t working, Corvo needs to try something else. How can Corvo get him to calm down and listen? 

Pushing Daud back and subduing him with violence is the first option that comes to mind, but with Corvo’s exhaustion and Daud’s rage-fuelled power, it is not one he can easily pull off. 

No, Corvo decides, violence won’t work. He can’t fight fire with fire, not this time. He needs something else to get Daud’s attention. 

But what can get his attention, surely without fail..? 

The answer comes surprisingly easily, and Corvo opens his mouth, keeping his tone as gentle as he can manage. 

“Don’t you remember killing Jessamine? Taking my daughter away?” 

Daud instantly freezes, the fire in him quelled in a single moment as though a whole bucket of ice was poured on top of him. 

“What you did to me, how you _destroyed_ me-” Corvo draws a breath, as a particularly intense wave of pain rushes to his head. “-you’re repeating it to _Kent_. Don’t…do something you’ll regret.” 

Corvo has Daud’s full attention now, the man has ceased all his struggles, listening to Corvo’s every word. 

“Listen to me, Adrielle didn’t hurt Kent. She was trying to protect him. That man over there, in the puddle of blood…he was the real killer. Adrielle _protected_ Kent.” 

Daud’s expression morphs in slow degrees, each muscle on his face twitching as it contorts his face: his eyebrows, his lips, his eyes. Corvo watches him go from rage, to a cold stillness, confusion, and then finally, settling on a horrified realisation. 

It takes a long minute before Daud speaks, and when he does, his voice is terribly hoarse, weighed down by a million emotions Corvo can’t begin to decipher. 

“…Is that true?” 

Corvo says nothing, closing his eyes instead while trying to shake off the next wave of giddiness. When he opens his eyes again, there is a firm pressure on his fresh wound. Corvo can’t exactly stand upright right now, in fact, he feels a bit too weak to do anything, so he relents to letting Daud help staunch the bleeding, allowing his arm to go limp in Daud’s hand. 

There is a hard expression on Daud’s face, one Corvo recognises all too well. It is something etched into Daud’s face and shoulders nearly permanently, carved into him like an invisible scar. Daud’s eyes would be clouded over, his lips would be taut in a line, and his eyebrows would be knitted, trembling near the edges. 

_Guilt_. 

But before Corvo can go closer to examine that feeling, Adrielle – whose presence Corvo has almost forgotten – speaks. 

“Uhm…are you okay, Corvo?” 

Daud’s eyes flicker to Adrielle, Corvo sees him stiffen, before turning his attention back to Corvo’s arm, increasing pressure on the wound with a frown. 

Corvo nods to Adrielle. 

“I’m fine. Are you alright? You’re not hurt, are you?” 

Adrielle shakes her head, still a little shaken from everything, and Corvo drops his gaze back down to the floor.

For nearly ten minutes, nobody says anything. Adrielle is poking the lifeless man in the corner with her foot, while Daud continues holding pressure to Corvo’s cut wound. 

Daud is the first to break the silence, after crudely wrapping up Corvo’s arm with some cloth. 

“We should get back to the inn.” 

Corvo nods in agreement, about to get back up. 

He is instantly overcome by a wave of exhaustion, and he stumbles forth, losing balance. Daud seems to have expected it, and he catches Corvo quickly, hoisting him up before his knees even touch the ground. 

“There’s Addermire solution back in the inn.” Daud’s voice is gruff, but it sounds _almost_ like an apology. 

Corvo only nods in response, his forearm stinging, and they make their way back.

\----------

Kent knows he must look like a disaster. His hair is messy, his clothes are dusty and stained, and his eyes are puffy and red. He doesn’t actually care though, all he’s thinking of is Adrielle, and how badly he wants to see her, unharmed, safe. Alive.

After Corvo rushed out from the inn, Feodor had gently ushered him into the couch, and Kent just buried himself there, knees tucked in, refusing to look up from the safe, dark hole in his knees. 

He remembers the knife. He remembers getting flung forth into the ground, and just a heartbeat later, there was a terrible gurgling sound, a squelch, and finally, an ominous thud on the ground. He remembers a lifeless body on the ground, a gleaming knife marred by fresh blood by its side, and the potent smell of death heavy in the air. 

Kent’s heart starts to race again just thinking of the violence, and he buries his head further into his knees, biting back a whine as stinging tears come again. Everything is just _too much_ for him right now. 

Ralph had been quite distressed when he saw Kent so upset, and on any other occasion, Kent would have felt this warm fluttery feeling in his chest, except Kent is in no mood to care, and the poor young boy’s attempts to cheer him up have been met with sombre shakes of his head.

The thought that Adrielle might die is something Kent so fervently refuses to even acknowledge. He can’t. Acknowledging it to him makes it real, and he just wants to shut out everything.

His thoughts continue to haunt him, circling back and forth, until reality itself feels warped, like a thick honey-like swamp. Kent feels numb just trying to get his head over it all. His mind is sluggishly slow, his thoughts don’t seem coherent anymore, and everything is slowly slipping away from his comprehension, leaving a jumbled, gnarly mess inside apart from one thought: 

_He wants Adrielle back._

Time feels slowed down, Kent doesn’t actually know how much time has passed, but when he hears the barest sound of the door opening, Kent jerks upright, immediately looking towards the doorway. 

Corvo is standing there. 

He’s pale, his short hair is plastered to his face by a layer of sweat. Kent briefly scans him down, sees crimson staining Corvo’s arm- 

_No. Please, no._

Kent immediately seizes up, as though a blizzard just froze everything in his body. 

_Please._

Kent feels his eyes well up with tears again. A torrent of emotion collapses onto him as everything in the background fades into a dull black, muting everything else but Kent’s roaring heartbeat. 

Kent can’t breathe, and he closes his eyes, struggling for something, _anything_ to hold onto. 

He hears the shuffling of footsteps – Corvo’s footsteps are typically silent – and there’s a flare of desperate hope in Kent, billowing past the darkness.

Kent looks up. 

There’s blood everywhere on Adrielle, crusted over in her hair, her clothes, over her skin, she _stinks_ of that copper stench, but- 

Her eyes are still sparkling, crystal, liquid, multitudinous shades of blue at every angle – she’s _alive_. 

Within seconds, Kent wraps his hands around her, burying his face into her shoulder. 

_She’s alive_. 

Kent tightens his grip, his mind is still fighting to keep up with everything, and he sinks deeper into Adrielle’s warmth, trying to make sure this moment is real. 

“I’m okay, Kent.” 

A hand encircles Kent’s waist, gently stroking down his back. It is warm, firm, and every frazzled nerve tingles and relaxes under Adrielle’s touch. 

It is just too much. 

The violence, getting attacking, seeing a man killed in front of him. Feodor. Daud. Corvo. Then _this_ \- 

The tension inside him snaps fully, every emotion in him gushing up like boiling water in a geyser. 

Kent starts to sob, loud, convulsive wails that are barely muffled by Adrielle’s blood-stained clothes as his shoulders shake uncontrollably. 

She’s alive. _She’s alive_. 

Everything Kent has kept inside is pouring out now, and Kent keeps crying, and crying, holding onto Adrielle like she’s the only thing keeping Kent afloat on top of everything. 

_She’s alive_.

\----------

After a long hour, the whalers have mostly dissipated, leaving Adrielle, Kent, Daud and Corvo downstairs.

Kent has calmed down already, his face is still red, but he’s a lot more composed now, nearly back to his usual self. He has started to treat Corvo’s wounds, and Daud goes upstairs to get a vial of Addermire solution for Corvo. 

There is a cold, heavy feeling in Daud’s stomach throughout it all, and when he tosses the vial to Corvo at the couch, hearing a soft ‘thank you’ in response, the sensation only intensifies. 

It’s a feeling he’s very familiar with, it’s always perpetually there after all, pounding into his bones ever since he killed Jessamine. 

_The guilt._

For the past year, Daud thought the guilt had lifted somewhat, and he was all too ready to be free of that horrible ache under his skin, except – it’s back again, just as merciless and crushing as he remembers. 

He feels _awful_. 

He only wanted to protect Kent, and he ended up nearly _destroying_ Kent instead by killing Adrielle, the one who had been protecting Kent in the first place. 

It’s laughable. 

Daud thought he genuinely had good intentions for once, but once again, his good intentions were horribly misplaced, and he ended up doing the opposite instead. But most of all, knowing he just went back to his usual self, destroying anything he touched without a care for anything or anyone…it hurts. 

Daud just didn’t even listen, he didn’t want to hear anything, all he wanted was to see that red pour out from Adrielle, to cause her as much pain as he could. He went back to being that bloodthirsty monster he was in a flash, and even when Corvo came into the picture, trying to calm him down, Daud still refused to listen. 

Corvo has never hurt Daud before (unlike him); the man always has good intentions, even for Daud, and Daud wants to repay that, he _wants_ to change, but what does he do instead?

Not listen to Corvo. Hurt him. 

Why does he have such poor control over himself? Why does he just end up falling back to swords and blood when it gets convenient? 

Daud fucked up _yet again_ , it’s his fault that Corvo got hurt. 

A pinch of insecurity starts to trickle in, and with it comes a bout of hopelessness, sending Daud back down into that horrible spiral of despair. 

Daud _knows_ he’s hot-tempered, violent, hopelessly arrogant – a terrible person in many ways, but he had hoped, that maybe, he could make something new from it all. 

He thought he at least made some progress since then, even dared to be a little optimistic about himself…and then _this_ happens. 

It scares Daud, how quickly he can revert back to the monstrous Knife of Dunwall, how quickly he can forget everything and lose himself all over again. 

He should have known better. His hands are already stained with so much blood, so much pain, all that hurt is ingrained into his very soul. Even when he thinks he’s doing something _good_ \- like teaching the whalers back then, or protecting Kent – he somehow manages to defy all expectations and wreck _more_ havoc. 

There must be something fundamentally wrong about Daud, something he can’t fix, that’s why he keeps burning everything he touches. 

Daud unintentionally sighs out loud at the thought, which makes Corvo twitch at the sound. Daud feels Corvo’s gaze on him, like a scalpel, cutting him open and exposing the monster he is at the core. 

Is he disgusted by what he sees? Daud wonders vaguely. 

A few seconds later, Corvo’s heavy gaze lifts. He resumes drinking the vial. Daud peeks up, uncertain. The Royal Protector’s shoulders are slumped in deep exhaustion, his arm is still bleeding as well, and Daud feels guilty all over again. 

He only wanted to protect Kent, and look where that got him. 

Daud is wrong at so many things on so many different levels. 

Kent continues to work on Corvo’s wounds, and Daud takes the chance to regain his composure, reconsolidate his thoughts. 

He can’t afford distractions now. He needs to focus on the investigation. That is the most important thing. His own needs are secondary at this point when more lives are at stake out there, so Daud takes measured breaths, calming himself, re-building the wall inside him to hold back the guilt. 

When Daud sees Corvo finally empty the vial, and Kent is nearly done with the bandage around Corvo’s arm, Daud takes a deep breath…and lets it out. 

That’s enough. He needs to focus now.

He turns to face Adrielle. Daud doesn’t exactly remember how she looked like back in the sewers, there was hardly any lighting there in the first place, but there is definitely a resemblance in the shape of her cheekbones, and the lightness of her eyes. Daud isn’t mistaken. She’s the same witch as before. 

And while Daud does feel some gratitude to her for saving Kent, _trust_ is a different issue altogether, especially when considering that stunt she pulled off back then. Daud still isn’t dismissing the thought that Adrielle might have some ulterior motive, some plan perhaps. 

He needs answers. 

"So you're a witch." He begins, and everyone looks up at him. 

Adrielle swallows.

“I…used to be.” She admits. 

“A witch?” Corvo questions, unrolling his blood-stained sleeve over his freshly bandaged arm. 

“One of Delilah's. She had a coven of witches following her." _The same people that caused the death of so many of his whalers,_ Daud doesn’t add. 

Daud notices Kent flinching at the corner of his eye at the mention of Delilah, about to say something, but he closes his mouth instead, staring at Adrielle in shock. So he didn’t know about her past. Daud doesn’t blame Kent, certainly not, he blames himself for not picking this up earlier. 

“And you two met once.” Corvo suddenly breaks in, and Daud nods at him. The Royal Protector’s very astute as usual. 

“We did-”

“-It…didn’t go so well, we definitely weren’t _friends_ then.” Adrielle winces, and Daud casts a glance to her arm (the one Daud mutilated and broke). Adrielle clearly remembers their…little encounter. 

Kent looks even more surprised at that revelation, but he still remains quiet. 

“But…I’m no longer a witch, if you’re wondering. After, well…” Adrielle shrugs, “after you… _eliminated_ Delilah, the powers disappeared.” 

“Then why are you in Karnaca?” Daud questions. 

Adrielle gives a huff.

“Same reason as you, probably. Searching for a new life. Running away.” 

Daud says nothing.

“I didn’t know Kent was one of yours, I didn’t even know you were in Karnaca. I swear, I didn’t. If I knew, I wouldn’t have come here.” 

“That’s convenient.” Daud can’t help but say. 

Adrielle purses her lips, before blurting out,

“I know I can’t prove that, but considering how _well_ our first meeting went, you’re definitely the last person I would have wanted to meet. Not to mention-” Adrielle immediately stops when her voice escalates to a near shout, a brief look of horror crossing her face, and Daud catches onto it, narrowing his eyes. 

“What?” 

“I just - I did…terrible things in the past. I’ve killed people before. And-” Adrielle swallows, averts her gaze. “I…killed one of yours too.” 

A chill rushes down Daud’s spine, and Kent flinches at the side. 

For a moment, Daud can’t react, his mind blank. 

But Adrielle continues anyway. 

“I know nothing excuses the things I did, nothing can forgive them. But…I still regre-” 

“When was it? Who did you…kill?” 

Was it Quinn? Petro? Scott? Or maybe Andrei, young, too innocent for his own good.

Adrielle stiffens, pausing. 

“I…don’t know.” 

There is a weak pulse of anger at the response, but it quickly fades, undermined by Daud’s sheer exhaustion. 

“I…I’m sorry. I really am. What I did- everything I did. I’m…sorry.” 

Another rush of anger comes, and goes. 

Her apology fixes nothing. The whaler is still dead, Daud doesn’t even know who it was, but the fact remains. The whaler is _dead_ , and nothing can take that back. Nothing will make it better, Daud knows that of course, from Jessamine. 

“I know I wronged you. If-” There is a pained expression on Adrielle’s face as she speaks. 

“…If you want me to leave Karnaca…I…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, her voice now a bare whisper, and Kent jerks up in horror, utterly dismayed. 

A painful silence passes, as everyone waits for Daud to say something, make a decision.

But Daud doesn’t know. 

Considering Adrielle’s past, he probably should have expected that she’d have hurt or killed one of his whalers, Daud supposes. They _were_ enemies back then after all, casualties were bound to arise from their conflict. And furthermore, Daud killed people too, like Adrielle. He understands fully well what regret feels like. Holding Adrielle to a mistake she can’t take back would be hypocritical of Daud. 

Then Daud’s lips tighten. 

No, what Adrielle’s doing could still be a ploy, to gain Daud’s trust before revealing her true intentions. She was Daud’s enemy once, she killed one of his too, and it would be a mistake to trust her this easily just because she says she regrets what she did. It could be nothing but an empty statement. 

The safest option now is _not_ to trust her, to cut off from her completely. 

But then Daud is reminded of Kent. 

The physician is huddled in the corner of the room, look of misery on his face - the sight of which pains Daud. Kent’s been through a lot in this single night, and it’s not even the end of it all. Now he finds out Adrielle used to be Daud’s enemy, and he might have to stop seeing her forever. 

Of course, Daud can’t – and won’t – stop Kent from seeing her outright, but he also knows the physician is extremely loyal to Daud. If Kent knows Daud disapproves of Adrielle, he’ll follow Daud’s wishes and stop seeing her altogether. 

Daud wants him to be happy of course, but his top priority is still keeping his whalers safe. If Adrielle truly is hiding something, Daud will be endangering his whalers here by allowing her to stay, and he can’t let that happen. 

Daud thinks of how he lost Billie, how he let those whalers die in the Overseer attack, and finally, how he almost lost Kent today. 

His throat closes. 

No, he can’t take any chances. He won’t lose any of his whalers again. He hates to do this to Kent, but it’s best if he gets rid of her now, for the sake of all his whalers. 

But is that even the right choice? 

Daud doesn’t know. 

Should he exile her? Let her stay? 

…What would _Corvo_ do? 

The moment that comes to mind, Daud stills. 

Corvo has spared him multiple times despite everything Daud has done to ruin him. Daud still doesn’t know why, but he is sure that Corvo must have been conflicted about it as well. 

Corvo could never know for certain if Daud was truly going to change, or whether he regretted what he did in the first place. Even so, with everything in mind, Corvo chose to give Daud a second chance. It is not forgiveness, definitely not, not kindness either, but Corvo still gave him the benefit of the doubt, choosing to spare Daud’s pathetic life rather than end it. 

Corvo must have seen _something_ in Daud that made him worth sparing, and although what it actually is remains a mystery as well, Daud so desperately _wants_ to believe in it, even if the recent happenings call that to question yet again. 

Corvo has given Daud _hope_ , and who is Daud to take that hope from somebody else, from Adrielle? 

“You’ve changed since then.” Daud says very quietly, and Kent blinks up at him, surprised. 

Daud is well-known for being extremely unforgiving. He holds grudges against people as much as a petty noble lady in court, exercising thorough vengeance against them without fail. He doesn’t deal with threats, uncertainties or mysteries. He gets rid of them. The Knife of Dunwall never forgets, he never forgives, and he definitely doesn’t _hope_. That was - _is_ \- his policy, no exceptions. 

Adrielle looks very hesitant, but she nods.

“…Then do what you wish.” Daud ends, as Kent’s eyes widen even more.

A long, disbelieving silence follows.

“Does that mean I can…stay?” Adrielle asks, unsure. 

“Do what you wish.” Daud repeats flatly. 

The unsaid meaning sinks, Adrielle instantly opens her mouth to say something when Daud interrupts,

“Don’t thank me.” 

Adrielle shuts her mouth at that, before flashing a smile at Kent. But Kent isn’t even looking at her, still gobsmacked, staring at Daud. 

Eventually though, he tears his eyes away from Daud, looking to Adrielle, eyes radiating with the same relief and joy as Adrielle’s. 

Daud allows a few minutes for the two (and secretly, him as well) to revel in shared happiness before Daud returns back to business, clearing his throat to get Adrielle’s attention. 

The pair can go flounder around in joy later. 

There are still more things to discuss, Adrielle’s past affiliation with the witches is only one of them. Daud has yet to get answers for the most pressing matter of them all: the killings, the attempted murder on Kent, the _Leviathan Children_. 

“Do you know anything about the Leviathan Children?” 

Adrielle’s jubilant smile vanishes at the name. 

That reaction confirms what Daud suspects. _Adrielle knows something about them._

“What do you know?” Corvo asks, noticing Adrielle’s reaction as well. 

“It’s...well…” She swallows. 

“I was actually going to tip you off-” Adrielle gestures to Corvo. “-when I heard you were coming to Karnaca. Funny how things turned out now…but since you’re here – 

_I know who’s responsible for the killings._ ” 

Daud, Kent and Corvo all freeze, jerking up.

“Who?” Corvo’s voice is slightly louder than usual. 

Adrielle frowns. 

“The Leviathan Children isn’t a lone killer, rather, a group of killers-” 

“Which noble is in charge?” Daud asks. 

“Noble?” Adrielle shakes her head. “It’s not a noble orchestrating everything. No politics this time.” 

“Cultists then.” 

Adrielle shakes her head once again. 

“…Not them too. The ones doing the killings are probably cultists, but the one who leads them is somebody else.” 

She turns to Daud. 

“Did you notice anything strange about the killings, the dates, weather?” 

Daud is already running through the dates in his mind, but nothing stands out. No visible pattern, no discernible regularity. The killings aren’t conducted in any set frequency, timing, or even location. It all seems random. But…weather? What does weather have to do with anything? 

Adrielle answers the unsaid question. 

“When I was a…witch, we did many witchcraft rituals, too many. But they were fickle things, affected by even the slightest change in environment. Harnessing the powers of the Void isn’t easy of course. Things like ingredients, location, time, seasons, moon phases, even cloud patterns…all of them had an effect on our rituals. So we experimented a lot, finding the specific set of conditions that would produce the best results.” 

Daud’s mouth goes dry. He already doesn’t like where this is going. 

“And the killings done by the Leviathan Children…they always coincided with specific conditions: a sky that bleeds red during sunset, the bemoaning of a whale at dusk, an unmasked moon, and a chill in the night just cold enough to cause a shiver. I thought it a coincidence at first, but as the killings continued in the same fashion, I knew they were all planned. That’s how I knew how to predict when and where the killings would take place, it’s also how I managed to save…” Adrielle falters as she looks at Kent, leaving the rest unsaid. 

“So a witch is doing this. I thought you said the magic faded.” 

“It did, but magic doesn’t just come from the mark. The Void’s power is everywhere in the world, and we found many ways to harness it even without the mark. There are things you can use, things you can do, to get close to that power.” 

Daud turns cold. 

“And whichever one of my past ‘ _sister_ ’ is in charge of this whole operation, killing so many people…” Adrielle spits out, “she’s planning something _big_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I'm really sorry for the late update again. Certain things in this chapter took a little longer than I expected...
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for your patience! Also a big thank you to everyone who left kudos, comments, or even just spent the time to check out this fic of mine! You have no idea how much it means to me, and I also have no idea how to tell you how much I appreciate your support, but I truly do :) Thank you!


	19. Coming to a Full Circle (1)

Corvo is seated on the rooftops, trying to process everything that Adrielle revealed to them in a single night. 

Her history as a witch, her affiliation with Delilah, and more importantly, some valuable insight into the mastermind of the Leviathan Children. _Another witch_. 

The next important thing is of course, their hideout, but when Daud asked her if she knew where they were hiding, Adrielle shook her head, saying that she needed more time to figure it out. 

Daud had frowned, going back upstairs to bring down all his notes and reports on the Leviathan Children and tossing everything on the table. Adrielle started reading through everything, and Corvo initially sat there watching, but as minutes eventually dragged into hours with no real progress, Corvo found himself needing some fresh air, and so he came to the rooftops, enjoying a small moment of solitude amidst everything else.

He stifles a yawn. 

The whole night has been awfully hectic – in fact, the whole week has been hectic - and between protecting Emily in a foreign land and the investigation, Corvo hardly has a single minute to himself. 

Sleepless nights, being on the ball at all times…it takes its toll on Corvo too, no matter how much he tries to hide it. The absurd number of elixirs he downs every day is barely helping anymore; Corvo knows that his body needs actual rest to recover, not _more_ elixirs to temporarily mask the pain. 

Corvo casts a brief look at his injured arm, now covered in layers of fresh bandages.

He frowns. The wound is going to be a nuisance for the next week or so until it heals, but that isn’t what Corvo’s worried about. What he’s worried about is Emily, more specifically, her reaction to the injury. 

His daughter is going to be very upset when she sees his injury. Corvo sighs.

Emily is always so worried for Corvo, but he can’t blame her either, when he’s the same towards her. 

What is she doing now? Is she having another sleepless night, now that Corvo is not beside her? Is she secretly crying in her bed (as Corvo knows she does)? 

If this happened in the past, Emily would have thrown a big tantrum, yelling and screaming, begging Corvo to stay and not get hurt, even though his job as Royal Protector basically necessitated it. 

In those times, Corvo would always try to reason with her, but he was never as stern or firm like Jessamine was, and Emily took advantage of that. She would hit Corvo, shove him, scold him, yell and cry until Jessamine came into the picture, gently pushing Corvo aside and taking control of the situation. 

Contrary to what everyone thought, it was _Corvo_ who was always soft towards Emily, and it was _Jessamine_ that was firm, scolding Emily, teaching her right from wrong.

Jessamine liked teasing him for it. She used to say that Corvo could deal with the insubordination of guardsmen, noblemen, men holding guns and knives, he was a beast in court, but yet somehow, a single scream from his own daughter could turn him into a complete pushover, trampled on all over by Emily’s tiny baby feet. Corvo always smiled sheepishly whenever Jessamine said that, replying, “only for her”. 

He didn’t think much of it at that time, not until Emily threw a big tantrum two weeks after her coronation, her first since returning back to the tower. 

She had wanted to go to the streets to greet her citizens, interact with them, but Corvo insisted that it wasn’t safe yet. 

“No, I’m going to go to the streets.” She yelled. 

“Emily, it’s not safe. Give it one more month, alright?” Corvo told her, patient and gentle as always. 

“I’m going!” Emily shouted, and Corvo shook his head.

“I can’t let you do that.” 

“You’re not _listening_ to me!” 

“Emily-” Corvo frowned. 

“ _No_. I’m going and that’s _final!_ ” 

“Emily, you can’t-”

“NO!” Emily had basically screamed at the top of her lungs. “I’m the Empress and I said I’m _going!_ ” 

Emily glared at Corvo. 

And then, a terrible silence sunk in, with the distinct feeling like something was missing, something very important and precious, and the air felt fractured, broken, a crushing void everywhere. 

Jessamine would have resolved this within minutes. 

Jessamine would have known what to do. 

Corvo throat closed.

Jessamine’s not here. She’s gone. 

There was no Jessamine to handle Emily’s tantrums, no Jessamine to be firm with Emily, and no Jessamine to tease Corvo for being soft later in private. 

Corvo’s alone. 

There was a sharp bolt of grief…and Corvo broke apart. His stern demeanour fell away, and Corvo turned away from Emily, so purely exhausted and devastated all at once, the pain worse than all six months of torture in Coldridge. 

He’s truly _alone_. 

Corvo never once doubted or forgot that he was a father, being one was his greatest pride, but in that single moment when Emily was screaming at him, the absence of Jessamine thick in the air like a choked-back scream, everything became too much, and Corvo felt absolutely pathetic, broken, so _ashamed_ that Emily had him as a father.

He couldn’t do this, _not without Jessamine._ It was too much to handle. 

Emily had immediately sensed the change in Corvo, she was speaking, saying something, but Corvo couldn’t react to any of it. He could only feel that terrible gaping void inside him, how badly he wanted to be held by Jessamine, to be comforted by her, for her to tell him everything would be okay.

How was he supposed to be a father like this, when he’s already struggling to hold himself together? 

“I’m- I’m sorry, Corvo. I’m _sorry_. Corvo..?” Emily started tugging on Corvo’s sleeve then, desperate to get his attention back. 

But Corvo still couldn’t respond. 

He’s alone. His family is broken. He’s a failure as a father. 

“I’m sorry, you’re right. I won’t go anymore, I promise. I won’t go. I should’ve listened. Corvo, please. Don’t be mad. I’m _sorry_.” 

Corvo didn’t move, and Emily’s voice became louder, more frantic. She started tugging down more urgently, before tears finally spilled over, breaking to loud sobs. 

And then Corvo finally woke up, pulling Emily into a hug, shushing her, hurriedly locking back all his loneliness and despair deep inside, where the world – and certainly not Emily – could ever see. 

Corvo quickly shakes his head at the memory, cursing softly under his breath. He always does this, thoughts wandering off into oblivion back into that little pocket of despair whenever he let his control slip just a little. His hand automatically goes up to touch the small bump under his clothes, near his neck – Jessamine’s ring. 

It’s been so long, years in fact, but Corvo feels no more ready to let her go than the first day he lost her. He still loves her, he feels so hollow without her, and he doesn’t know if there will ever be a day when he can look forward to waking up in the morning, knowing Jessamine isn’t with him. 

Corvo used to be fine being alone, he was stronger by himself, but ever since getting to know Jessamine and the intoxicating feeling of being loved, cherished, Corvo suddenly realises he’s nothing without her. He’s not strong, he’s weak. He’s _lonely_. 

Emily once told him Corvo hardly smiled much anymore, never laughed or told jokes anymore, and she had looked up at Corvo with wet eyes, asking softly if he could ever be like that again.

 _No_ , was Corvo’s honest answer, but there was no way he could ever tell Emily that. He couldn’t lie to her either, and he hugged her instead, not saying a word. His little girl understood anyway, and she hugged Corvo back, crying, mourning the loss of not just her mother, but her father as well. 

Corvo bites his lip, holds his hand over the ring for a few more seconds, wishing for strength, until a short clatter behind Corvo draws him out from his thoughts. 

He snaps upright, removing his hand from the ring. 

There are more footsteps, and Corvo relaxes slightly when he recognises the gait. 

Daud is usually very quiet, skulking around like a panther hunting for prey, and if he’s letting his footsteps resound like that, he either wants his presence to be known, or he’s simply tired, and can’t care to keep himself silent anymore. 

Corvo’s guessing it’s a combination of both. 

There is more clattering, and then, a vial of Addermire solution is suddenly dropped onto Corvo’s lap, rolling as it hits his knee.

Corvo blinks at it for a few seconds in surprise, before finally accepting the token of generosity with a ‘thank you’. Daud lets out a grunt from behind, settling down on the rooftop as well, a fair distance away from Corvo but still in his periphery. Defensive as per usual. 

There is a short silence, and Daud speaks. 

“You look terrible.” 

Corvo scowls instinctively in response, even though Daud probably can’t see it. He’s heard that line one too many times, from Emily, Curnow, Callista, Samuel, bold guardsmen…and now _Daud_ , the last person that should be telling Corvo anything. 

…But he is _tired_ , and Corvo obediently uncaps the vial, swallowing a mouthful. Daud also uncaps a fresh vial for himself, sipping it. 

Well clearly he’s not the only one relying on an unhealthy number of elixirs to stay awake. 

“Have you found anything?” Corvo asks, after his third mouthful. 

Daud shakes his head. 

“Adrielle says she needs another hour to decode everything.” 

Another silence comes, a familiar one that follows whenever Corvo and Daud are in the same space together. 

In the past, maintaining this silence had been terribly exhausting. The two don’t talk, don’t even look at each other sometimes, but it was always constant mental warfare between them, sizing each other up, observing, analysing, trying to pry open each other and yet not be pried open themselves. The silence between them always felt like solid glass, hard, immovable, but fragile enough to shatter completely and devolve in a full-blown war with a single strike. 

But recently, something in the air between them has shifted. It’s less a war between them, still watchful, but it’s much easier to tolerate Daud’s company now. Corvo doesn’t feel the need to be on guard at all times, and he sometimes forgets to watch Daud altogether, letting him fade into the background and do whatever he pleases. 

The honest fact is, Corvo is more comfortable with Daud now. Both of them understand each other, just enough that it isn’t a chore keeping each other company now. They aren’t strangers anymore, not exactly, and their deep, harrowing history together that used to drive a wedge between them now seems to be pushing them together.

Broken men attract broken company, Corvo supposes. He relates to Daud, and Daud relates to him.

Corvo frowns, not wholly comfortable with the thought. 

It isn’t the first time he’s had these thoughts, but the growing frequency in which he has them these days is disconcerting, and it’s forcing Corvo to finally consider difficult things he would rather _not_ consider than all: friendship, forgiveness. 

Corvo swallows. 

Corvo has spent much time with Daud, he understands the nature of Daud’s guilt, his bond with the whalers and bits and pieces of the man’s mysterious past. He’s seen the ugly things that define Daud, his broken trust of the world, the violence born from all that resentment…but he’s seen the good things too, Daud’s fierce protectiveness over his family – the whalers, his desire to do good, and faintest glimmers of something gentle and bright peeking out from inside him, trying so desperately not let its presence known for fear of being crushed. 

It’s inevitable, but…

With the way things are going now, one day Corvo will have to come to terms with the fact that Daud is no longer his enemy, and is actually, treading close to becoming a _friend_. 

It’s a frightening thought, and indulging it feels like betrayal - especially when Jessamine’s spirit is still here trapped in a flesh-made atrocity. 

But how long can he make Daud suffer like this? How long _should_ he? Is that fair? Daud will hold the guilt in him for the rest of his life, but Corvo’s forgiveness can help alleviate it, and considering how much effort Daud has put in to show Corvo he’s changed, doesn’t he deserve it? But can Corvo even forgive him and _mean_ it? 

…He doesn’t know. 

It’s too hard. 

“…I’m sorry.” 

Corvo jerks up upon hearing that, suddenly afraid that Daud could actually hear his inner conflicts. He spills a little Addermire solution over himself. What? 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” Daud continues, very quiet. 

Daud is staring at Corvo’s arm, face set in that guilty expression Corvo is very familiar with. Corvo can nearly see all the heavy thoughts running through Daud’s mind, weighing him down, torturing him internally. 

Corvo blinks at that, swallowing. _Oh._

“I don’t blame you.” Corvo says, and Daud almost flinches backwards at that, eyes widening. “I would have done the same.” 

Daud just looks even more incredulous, locking eyes with Corvo.

“The same?” 

“If Emily was the one in danger. I would’ve-” Corvo stops, “would’ve killed too.”

Daud’s eyes widen again, before scoffing. 

“ _No_. You wouldn’t have. You’re not _like me._ ”

The way Daud says that catches Corvo’s attention, and he catches a flash of something vulnerable and hurt in Daud’s eyes. 

Corvo pauses for an even longer moment. 

He can recognise that Daud has gotten himself into an odd mood, suddenly oozing a copious amount of guilt and pain. 

Corvo stops, thinks. 

Whatever that happened back there _wasn’t_ Daud’s fault, Corvo decides after a while. He did what he did for the right reasons. He may have hurt Corvo, but Daud never intended to do so. Corvo was just collateral damage. 

Corvo then thinks of how Daud allowed Adrielle to stay in Karnaca with Kent, something most likely unprecedented for him considering Kent’s gaping shock at him. He thinks of Ralph, all the children, how Daud gave them all a home and a purpose, and finally, he thinks of that fire in Daud’s eyes, simmered down to a mere glow, now warm and approachable. 

Corvo’s been watching Daud for a long time and it’s clear, _he’s changed_. The fact that Corvo is considering actually _forgiving_ Daud is full evidence of that. 

Daud averts his eyes right then, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders stiff. It looks very similar to the normal expression Daud has on, but with Corvo’s experience in dealing with Daud, he can spot the subtle differences in his demeanour that suggest he’s a lot more upset than he lets on. 

And for whatever reason, Corvo doesn’t want him to feel that way. 

He doesn’t deserve it. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened.” Corvo says again, more firmly this time, and Daud looks up. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You just wanted to protect Kent.” 

Daud starts to study Corvo, almost suspicious now, and Corvo instantly feels self-conscious, quickly starting to regret having said anything in the first place. 

Corvo returns to drinking his Addermire solution. 

After about ten more seconds, Daud finally takes his gaze off Corvo. 

“…You’re a mystery, Corvo Attano.” 

‘ _You’re a mystery too._ ’ Corvo wants to reply, but doesn’t, and they spend the next hour or so on the rooftops together in silence, until Adrielle calls them back in from the first floor. 

“I know where they are hiding!” She exclaims while waving a map, and Corvo exchanges a glance with Daud, both thinking the same thing. 

They finally have a lead.

\----------

“You would think a slaughterhouse would be the last place cultists would go.” Daud is grumbling five minutes later, as the two make their way across the rooftops towards the hideout of the Leviathan Children – a slaughterhouse of all places imaginable.

Corvo shares the same sentiment, and he shrugs in response, jumping off a rooftop and blinking to the next. 

Using the details of past killings, and from Adrielle’s extensive knowledge of witchcraft, she’s determined that the Leviathan Children are hiding in the Danvre Slaughterhouse – a place fell to ruin after the owner died, as Daud helpfully supplied. 

The place was quickly robbed of all valuables after the owner’s death, and since then, the slaughterhouse has remained there, abandoned, untouched…or so they thought. 

It is now apparently the hideout of the infamous Leviathan Children, led by a witch. And whatever it is they’re planning, Corvo will do everything he can to stop them and make Karnaca’s dockyards safe once more. 

“You’ve been practicing.” Daud suddenly comments a few paces behind him, and Corvo briefly pauses, looking back curiously. 

Daud appears in a burst of ashes a few steps away from Corvo. 

“Your blinking powers.” Daud elaborates with a grunt. “You _finally_ broke that fucking habit of relying on your eyes to blink.” 

Corvo doesn’t have a response for him, the man’s right, Corvo _has_ been practicing to get rid of that habit but- 

“…That’s good.” Daud suddenly adds very quietly.

A few seconds pass for it to sink in. There is a sudden warmth, and Corvo stiffens up, ducking away and blinking to the next rooftop. 

He’d rather kill himself than let Daud see his reaction to the sudden remark.

Minutes pass, Corvo and Daud continue their journey from rooftop to rooftop, and then Daud breaks the silence once again, mumbling, 

“…I was planning on blindfolding you and throwing you out to the rooftops if that habit wasn’t fixed.” 

Daud is very talkative tonight, Corvo notes vaguely, and then his brain finally processes what Daud just said. 

He stops.

“You…do that to your whalers?” Corvo asks incredulously, stunned and horrified at the same time. 

It must show, and Daud scowls at him.

“What.” Daud snaps. “It _works._ ”

Corvo raises an eyebrow. He can list a million reasons why Daud's _spectacular_ idea is in fact a terrible one - forget effectiveness - the first being that the ground doesn't exactly give a warm welcome to live human bodies falling three storeys off a rooftop.

“...Bones are susceptible to breakage under immense pressure.” Corvo feels the need to point out.

“You wouldn’t have died!” Daud retorts, as though that somehow justified everything and made perfect logical sense.

Corvo remains standing there, mentally running through the names of the whalers in the inn and the unfortunate souls that might have been subjected to Daud’s questionable teaching tactics. 

It becomes a long list very quickly, while Daud glowers at Corvo, daring him to say anything else. 

What other asinine things has Daud done while teaching the whalers? (And what asinine things does Daud intend to do to him?)

Corvo spends a good ten seconds just staring at Daud, before finally shaking his head and continuing on to the slaughterhouse. 

He can remind Daud of the many limitations of a human body and the potential threats to its well-being some other time. They have more important things to focus on.

For the rest of their journey, Daud doesn’t speak, and they finally reach Danvre Slaughterhouse after an hour, tucked away from the city and hidden under a thick layer of foliage that was only allowed to fester given the slaughterhouse’s long disuse. 

Corvo has never been to a slaughterhouse before, but he’s certain that Danvre Slaughterhouse falls below every kind of quality standard for its construction. 

It’s huge, but rundown, evidently built from large pieces of scrap metal welded together clumsily like a beggar’s torn clothes, and it looks ready to tear and collapse at any moment.

The air smells stale, with the barest tinge of copper-rich blood. A sign that he’s on the right track. 

“The front door will be too obvious.” Daud tells him. 

Corvo nods. He is thinking exactly that too, and he looks around, searching for a different entrance. After a few minutes of searching, Daud beckons him over to a small bushy area at the corner, pointing to a rusted air duct tunnel opening. It is just large enough to crawl through, and Daud kicks it open, rusted nails falling loose as the metal panel gives way. 

They reach the other end of the opening soon enough, the tunnel opening up to reveal a large space in the slaughterhouse interior. 

It is even darker insider, the moonlight blocked by metal, although small beams shine down through the small cracks in the rooftops and windows. Corvo is not unused to darkness, and his eyes quickly adjust to the lack of light. He can make out the long metal chains, rusty equipment littering the floors, and a thick layer of dust over everything from lack of use. Dried, crusted smears of blood stain the walls, and the air smells musty, stale. 

He can’t help but think of all the poor whales that were gutted here for their precious oil, and he reminds himself to speak with Emily about getting Sokolov and the other natural philosophers to research into more sustainable sources of power when they return to Dunwall. Maybe they can adopt something similar to Karnaca’s windmills. 

Corvo takes another glance about to double-check the area before standing up. There’s no one inside as far as Corvo can tell, and he sneaks towards the door at the end of the first room.

And then Daud suddenly lets out a sharp wheezing sound, wincing.

Corvo looks back. 

Daud is rubbing his mark, hissing in pain. 

“There’s…something inside. I don’t know what, but…” Daud frowns, unable to give a coherent explanation, and Corvo uses a little magic to cast dark vision. 

His sight clears, everything in the room becomes visible, and he sees the faintest yellow glow coming from somewhere deep inside the slaughterhouse when- 

His mark _burns_ , a piercing bolt of pain slamming into his head and down his left arm. Corvo winces, hurriedly dispelling the magic when the pain intensifies. 

“What is that..?” 

Daud is clueless as well, and he shakes his head. 

“It’s probably best not to use our magic for now.” Daud advises. 

Corvo nods, moving on to the next room, a processing room of some sort with empty whale oil tanks strewn all over the floor. The iridescent blue glow of whale oil is nowhere to be seen, the pipes rusted and snapped in some places. 

The room is empty as well. Corvo can make out a few charred areas in the room, no doubt the result of accidental explosions, and then he freezes, noticing a different stain at the corner. 

There is a fresh blood stain on the wall, still dripping, wet, and Corvo’s stomach does a flip. 

Further proof that _something_ is going on here. 

He moves on, more urgently now, and then out of the blue, there is a very loud crash from somewhere inside the slaughterhouse, sending shockwaves through the ground. 

Corvo and Daud both jump at the sudden noise. An electrifying chill goes down Corvo’s spine, lighting his nerves on fire, and his heart starts pounding heavily against his ribcage.

The crash fades into a deathly silence nearly instantly, the shaking ground returning to a cold stillness.

What was that?! 

He shoots Daud a glance, but the man is equally confused, and he urges Corvo to continue on deeper into the slaughterhouse. 

In the next corridor, the smell of fresh blood is at the forefront, sinking its putrid stink in Corvo’s lungs. It makes breathing suffocating. Corvo wrinkles his nose, and frowns when he sees even more blood smears on the walls, large splatters on the floor. 

So many deaths, blood, the Leviathan Children have been killing for nearly a year, and for what? Corvo remembers how Kent nearly got killed and tightens his grip around the door handle at the end of the room. It doesn't matter what their purpose is, Corvo won’t allow them to continue their murderous streak. 

He will stop them. _All of them_. 

He opens the door as quietly as he can, and the first thing to hit them is a gut-wrenching stench that draws bile up instantly.

Decomposing bodies. Rotten flesh. Blood.

Corvo is instantly taken back to the rat plague days, his days in Coldridge, his short time in the Flooded District fighting back herds of weepers.

His hand goes to his sword handle instinctively. 

There’s also something else, a…buzzing sound of some sort, a bit like a bone charm, but more...perverse somehow. It’s not exactly one of the Overseers’ music boxes either, but Corvo knows that whatever the sound is, it’s not one that belongs to the real world. 

It is dissonant, hollow, completely devoid of any kind of harmony that it shears at Corvo’s skin and ears, grating down his muscles and soaking its cacophonic melody into his very bones.

It sounds _terrible_ , and his mark seems to respond to it, tingling painfully to the unholy tune. Corvo bites his lip at the sensation. There is something very ominous and dangerous about everything on here. Corvo's stomach is twisting, his heart rate is unusually fast, and his skin is prickling with a strange, unnatural apprehension. His body is protesting against going near that dreadful noise, but Corvo pushes on, heading in further still. 

They reach the main slaughter chamber soon enough, and the two instantly duck behind a set of crates when they hear footsteps and muffled voices. 

Peeking out from the side, the first thing Corvo takes note of is how big the chamber is. It is perhaps three levels high, with old, worn-out leather straps hanging from metal bolts at the ceiling.

There is a group of people in the centre of the chamber, covered in blood with a crazy, frenzied look in their eyes. They look just like weepers, dead inside, no sign of any kind of human consciousness left in them. 

And the noise – Corvo bites down a wince – is definitely coming from here. It sounds _awful_ , so unlike normal bone charms or runes.

Corvo may not strictly enjoy being a heretic, but even he admits that Void-created artifacts have a certain allure to them, beauty and harmony in their shape and carvings. 

They always felt…whole somehow, like a completed symphony. The melody they sang could be unpleasant sometimes, some bone charms sang nothing of bloodshed and violence, but they still felt _right_ , and whatever... _this_...is, whatever the Leviathan Children have created, it is none of that. 

It sounds like a ghastly wail from the Void itself, as though the whole sky is exploding and the planet is crumbling apart. 

Corvo’s eyes are drawn upwards to the origin of the sound. There is a mass of white in the centre of the room, in the cavity that would usually hold a whale, and a terrible chill goes down Corvo’s whole body when he realises what it is. 

Bone. 

_Whalebone._

It is, in fact, an entire whale stripped of flesh and skin, laid down in the room, spread out from skull to tail, its bones bleached white. 

Odd engravings are carved into every inch of bone, and each bone is wired to the next piece by metal, holding each piece upright and taut. Special attention is paid to the massive ribcage, wires weaved between the curved rib bones in no discernible pattern, crudely twisted off in sloppy bends. 

Corvo has read about whales once, and he knew them to be gentle beasts, enormous, but not hostile. Never confrontational. They were a beauty like none other, graceful, uncontested masters of the sea. To see their majesty and greatness reduced to bare bone, defiled by metal trappings and forced into a poor reproduction of their original form… it is revolting.

What have they done? Why did they create this unnatural abomination?! 

A deep rage starts boiling within Corvo, and he snaps up the moment a voice rings out in the room. 

“Now, brothers and sisters. It is time. The Great Leviathan calls.” 

The voice is distinctly female, Corvo narrows his eyes at it. That must be the witch, the leader of the Leviathan Children. 

“We are ready to move on to the final step.” 

Corvo hears the rest of them mumble something in unison, gathering around the witch while carrying large bowls of dark liquid. Corvo recognises it instantly as blood, crimson, coagulated at the surface. 

The cultists dip their hands with the blood, using their dripping hands to paint the massive whalebone structure red. 

“ _Fuck_.” Daud mutters beside him. “They’re turning the whole whale into a bone charm.”


	20. Coming to a Full Circle (2)

Corvo can’t move at the realisation. 

The witch starts to chant something, indiscernible to Corvo, and the blood on the whalebone suddenly becomes congealed, absorbing into the bone. 

“We need to stop them.” Corvo hisses to Daud. There’s something disturbingly unnatural going on here, like the laws of the universe are being bent and the very fabric of reality is being twisted and ripped apart. Whatever the witch is doing can’t be good, not when the whalebone is screeching a deathly wail that burns its way straight into Corvo’s skull. 

Every nerve in Corvo starts firing up. The ground starts to rumble, shake, and the air starts to thicken, vibrating with what feels like electricity. 

“How many of them are there?” Daud asks hastily, fumbling with his wristbow. 

Corvo does a quick count.

“Seventeen – minus the witch.” 

His own heart gives an ominous thump at that. Seventeen against two of them, and without magic. That’s not good. 

Corvo scans the group of cultists again, cursing softly. Without magic, guns are a real threat, but from his skewed angle hidden behind crates, he can’t determine for sure who has one, and who doesn’t. It’s risky. All it will take is one shot, and Corvo will be on the ground bleeding out, dying. 

But there’s no time left to waste either, the witch is already proceeding with her ritual. The vibrations in the ground are intensifying, and the awful sound emanating from the whalebone is getting louder. 

Corvo unhooks his crossbow with and quickly loads up a sleeping dart, a few more darts readied between his other fingers.

He needs to stop them. _Now_. 

“I take the left.” 

Corvo doesn’t wait for Daud to acknowledge it, he’s out, and a sleep dart whizzes through the air, burying straight into the neck of one cultist. 

He loads another dart just as the spring mechanism jerks back, shoots another before the first even hits the ground. 

The second starts to totter, and when the first cultist finally collapses to the ground, all hell breaks loose. 

“We have an intruder! Defilers! Sinners! _Get rid of them!_ ” The witch shrieks. 

Another cultist topples over in the distance, and Corvo sees Daud ducking behind the crates, re-loading his wristbow. 

“Did you-”

“No.” Daud hisses back, briefly showing Corvo the green darts before loading them in. 

The remaining cultists are now all on high alert, looking for Corvo and Daud while growling like rabid animals. 

Another dart is fired off, Corvo has only two left – he doesn’t know how many Daud has left, but it is definitely not enough to take down _all_ of the cultists. 

How are they going to handle this? 

The ground suddenly lets out another loud roar, and Corvo loses balance as the earth shakes, his crossbow falling to the ground. 

He’s about to pick it up, when he notices something wrong. 

His mark, usually hidden under the tight wrappings of his shirt cuff, is _glowing_ , illuminating in a bright mix of blue and yellow. 

It sparks with a freezing bolt of pain, and Corvo grasps his wrist, wincing. 

What is happening? This feeling, the cold-burn, the never-ending chill…

Why does it feel like- 

“It’s…sucking our magic through the mark.” Daud grimaces, just as Corvo comes to the same conclusion. 

Corvo’s magic is draining out fast, he knows he doesn’t have much time left before he collapses from exhaustion, and he shoots Daud a look of exasperation. The man nods in silent agreement, clearly thinking the same thing. 

Best to finish the cultists quick, and then deal with the witch. 

The carvings on the massive bone charm in the room start to glow a bright yellow. Corvo can feel a thick miasma gathering around the bone charm, sucking all energy from the surroundings, leaving a prickling sensation at his skin. Cold, empty, just like the Void. 

What is the witch planning?! 

Corvo wastes no more time, he vaults across the crates in a single leap - ignoring the pain when he leans his weight on his hurt arm – and shoots off a sleep dart. 

It flies off, piercing the nearest cultist. 

He lets out a gurgle, stumbles a few steps back, and then drops unconscious on the ground with a thump. It draws the attention of the rest of the cultists, and they jerk backwards, bloodshot eyes finally falling on Corvo. 

The nearest to Corvo – a man whose hair is soaked in blood – abruptly drops over, unconscious, and Corvo sees Daud pop up at the corner of his eye, vaulting over and joining him by his side, prepping another sleep dart into his wristbow. 

Corvo sends off his last sleep dart whirring to the cultist at the corner, he falls over within seconds, and Corvo quickly tracks the rest of the cultists, mentally assessing the situation. 

Two to the left, three to the right, five at the back and one- 

Corvo jumps aside as the said cultist charges into him like an enraged bull, fuming. Daud slams the cultist to the ground from the side, and a swift blow to the head knocks him out. 

The ground gives out another loud rumble, and the pain at his mark intensifies. It numbs Corvo’s arm, spreading down his spine and shooting up to his skull like a piercing bolt, and he swallows back a wince. 

The amount of magic and energy gathered in the air now is _suffocating_ , almost singing his skin, and even breathing leaves an unpleasant crackling sensation in his lungs, as if he just breathed in a bolt of lightning. 

He grits his teeth. He doesn’t have much time left before his body completely gives way. He needs to be even faster.

And Corvo darts straight into the centre group of five, kicking and slamming the first one down, pouncing off him for another. He would never do that in an ordinary situation, but he has no choice now. 

Corvo hardly hears the cultists' choked screams past his deafening heartbeat. He slams into one more cultist, throwing his whole weight down while swinging up to aim a jab at the next.

The jab barely throws the cultist back a few steps, and Corvo bites down as a sharp jolt of pain explodes at the base of his skull.

He’s weakening. He can’t- 

A gunshot fires a few steps away from Corvo. 

The bullet whizzes past his arm, tearing the fabric, and a burst of adrenaline floods his body. 

Corvo's calves _burn_ as he leaps into the air to avoid the next shot – another loud crack in the air. He sees a blur of red, and Daud comes crashing down into the shooter, knocking his arm back swiftly and forcing a stray shot to the ceiling. It is the exact same move Corvo once did to a group of mercenaries at an alley, but he has no time to be impressed now. 

Corvo’s body is heating up in response to his readily depleting magic, but he forces himself up yet again, tackling the cultist aiming for Daud and kicking him down to the ground. The impact hits hard, taking even more strength out from Corvo. 

He takes in a ragged gasp, panting. 

A quick glance over at Daud reveals that the man is not faring much better either. He may have a higher magical stamina than Corvo, but the strain is starting to show on his face, and Daud struggles to pin back a screaming cultist to the wall.

And then something rams in his ribcage, throwing him off balance and knocking the air right out from Corvo. He gets smashed into the ground, barely sees a flash of sliver before jerking to the side, narrowly dodging a stab. 

Corvo instinctively tries to kick off the cultist, but the cultist doesn’t even buck, staring down at Corvo with feral, beady eyes. 

The next thrust is already coming down in a blur.

Corvo’s breath stops. He can’t dodge it. 

The only option left is- 

Corvo's sword is unfolded within a split second, and the cultist's arm is sliced clean off in a single slash, blood spurting out as the detached limb falls to the ground. 

Another quick slash, and the vulnerable artery at the neck is cut open, blood spraying out. There is a choked cry, and the cultist crumples to the ground in a pool of fresh blood. Dead. 

Corvo heaves, drags himself back up to his knees. His magic is nearly completely depleted. His vision is starting to blur, his head throbbing insistently as a hot fever ravages his entire body.

Daud is by his side within seconds of the cultist dying, and he parries a blow by the next cultist behind Corvo, knocking him back off.

A hand is offered hastily at the side as Daud blocks another blow. Corvo grabs it without hesitation and throws himself back up, running his sword through the space between the ribs of the next cultist – a woman this time - angled up to pierce the heart.

Another choked breath, another loss of life, and Corvo kicks off the dead cultist off his sword, panting. 

Corvo casts a quick glance about. Daud’s blade is out too, blood-stained. There are only three cultists left. The witch, and two more - one of which Daud dispatches in a second.

Corvo takes down the last one. The body tumbles to the ground. Lifeless. 

Corvo and Daud now turn their attention to the last one. The leader of the Leviathan Children. _The witch._

The witch barely even notices the disappearance of her other members, still chanting in front of the massive bone charm.

Corvo and Daud are about to rush over to deal with her, when the engravings on the whalebone start to glow even brighter. 

Corvo squints and looks away. 

Uncontrolled energy is surging through the air like lightning in a thunderstorm, chaotic, rampant, as if multiple tornadoes have been let loose in the room, cracking open the air and tearing apart reality itself. He can feel all the energy in the area getting sucked in, as if trapped in an invisible vortex, concentrating at the centre of the massive whalebone. 

Pressure starts to build, a heavy weight pressing down on Corvo’s shoulders, tightening, growing heavier, until- 

Everything _explodes_ out. 

It snaps. The energy bursts out in powerful waves, flinging Corvo across the room and slamming him into the wall. 

Daud is thrown back as well, tumbling over with a groan. 

The air shakes, fizzles, and then stills, leaving a cold silence. 

A bright light, white and vibrant, explodes out.

When Corvo finally looks back, his eyes instantly widen. 

It’s as if he got transported into a different dimension altogether. 

The whole chamber is enveloped in purple light, mixed with shades of blue, black and white. There is a bone-deep chill within Corvo’s body that he can’t help but shiver at, the smell of the Void deep in his lungs. And in the middle of it all, in the massive ribcage of the whale bone charm, there is a glowing white ring, emanating pulses of unholy energy. A portal of some sort. 

The smell, the light, and the strange warped gravity that seems to flow in all directions. 

A horrifying chill rushes down Corvo’s spine. 

It can’t be- 

_It is a portal into the Void._

Corvo is shocked to stillness. 

The witch is staring at the portal’s entrance in awe, unrestrained joy on her face.

“It worked! It _worked!_ Oh it is done!” Tears stream down her face as she looks into the Void, completely ignoring both Corvo and Daud. 

“Such power, such beauty.” The woman whispers. “Oh my lady, how you’ve suffered. We shall be together as one again, soon.” 

Corvo swallows, struggling to pull himself back up, but his body refuses to respond. His muscles just feel too weak. Corvo keeps trying still, summoning every last bit of willpower left in his aching body.

He _needs_ to stop the witch. There’s just something innately wrong about what she’s doing, no words can even begin to explain it. Horrifying, unnatural, morbid – nothing is capable of even describing how wrong it is. The Void shouldn’t be manipulated like this. It’s just… _wrong_. 

“Witch.” Daud spits out, now back on his feet. 

The witch finally turns, facing Daud and Corvo properly for the first time, her expression of pure exaltation replaced by one full of rage. 

“Ah _Daud_ , the little toad.” There is clear resentment in her voice, sharp as a razor. “Have you come to stop us yet again?” 

She laughs and then shakes her head. 

“But you’re too late. It’s already happening.” 

Corvo finally manages to pull himself back up, tottering slightly when he balances his weight on both feet, and takes his first real look at the witch. 

His skin crawls. 

There’s something very unsettling about her, distinctly inhuman almost. Her skin is completely white, as if completely drained of blood. Her limbs look out of shape, bent at strange angles, and her face is gaunt, muscles all shrivelled up. 

And then Corvo suddenly realises, it’s not her limbs that are bent. She’s not disfigured either. 

There are in fact, odd bulges all over her body and numerous long cuts running down her skin, bumpy and rotten near the edges, flesh held together by crude stitches in a zig-zag fashion all over her body. There is a slimy, gelatinous shine all over her skin, especially so at the open cuts, oozing a mix of pus and blackened blood. 

Corvo instantly recoils.

The bulges along her body are familiar. _Too_ familiar. Corvo has seen those shapes all over the city, in the sewers, in secluded places of the world, singing, moaning. 

What the- 

And Corvo flinches. 

The witch lets out a gurgling noise and starts to convulse, as though having a seizure. The portal glows, a tendril of black shooting out and connecting with the witch. Her limbs jerk backwards, twisting. Thick vines erupt from ash and encage her body, wrapping around her arms and legs, encircling her waist in a band where a series of blood red flowers sprout out. 

“ _Fuck_.” Daud curses, mirroring Corvo’s exact thoughts. 

The witch lets out a last blood-curdling scream that stabs into Corvo’s head like serrated knives. 

Then silence. She stops moving, slumps over, and then jerks back upright, spine straightening, like a corpse reanimated back to life. 

She lets out a hum, in a tone noticeably higher from before. This voice is sharper, more musical. _Dangerous_. As if she just turned into a different person altogether. 

“How surprising. The transposition worked.” The voice has a strange rhythm to it, an odd timbre, and Daud seems to recognise it. He stiffens up, steel grey eyes narrowing and filling with a fiery rage. 

“ _You_.” 

The person turns back with a predatory grace, and Corvo freezes up when he notices her glowing yellow eyes. 

“Ah, the _Mouse_ of Dunwall, Daud, back to foil my plans once _again_. I see you’ve been making friends, with…” She pauses. “Oh my, how surprising indeed. The Royal Protector, Corvo Attano.” 

“Delilah.” Daud growls. A chill rushes down Corvo at the name, and he thinks of Daud’s audiograph. 

“A misguided, idiotic fool, you are. Always intervening in things you have no knowledge of. It could have been a bright future. The empire would have been ruled under better stars rather than that _blubbering child_. It was my right.”

Corvo is about to say something back in rage when Daud cuts in, full of confidence and without hesitation. 

“Emily Kaldwin rules the empire better than you could ever have.” 

Corvo blinks, Delilah laughs. 

“Grown sentimental have you not? Soft, weak. Found some conscience at long last, the poor blunted knife, rusted from disuse.” 

Daud narrows his eyes. 

“It matters not. You will never understand the grander scheme of things. Power. Greatness. Such things are beyond you.” Delilah shakes her head. “ _His_ gifts are wasted on you.” 

Delilah’s eyes glow with a cold murderous lilt, lips tilting upwards as she raises her arm. 

Corvo’s eyes are drawn up. Her flesh is a mangled mess, raw and peeling at the edges, as if her whole arm was dipped in acid and gnawed away by a vicious wolfhound, its horrific visage contrasting with the familiar smooth arcs and lines of the Outsider’s mark, now glowing bright. 

“Duck.” Daud immediately tells Corvo,

Corvo obeys instantly without question, just as a series of black bolt-like projectiles are casted out from Delilah’s outstretched arm. They whizz over the top of his head, burying into the wall behind him. 

Daud recovers from the attack with a grunt, blinks right in front of Delilah despite the strain it must cause and twirls into a strike. 

A vine bursts up from the ground with a shriek, effortlessly blocking Daud’s blade. 

“How pathetic that your heart was made of glass, shattering the moment you dove a knife into Jessamine’s chest!” 

The vine is sliced open and chopped away, disintegrating with another piercing scream. 

“How does that regret feel? Do you think anything you do now can wipe away your sins?” Delilah continues to goad, while Daud ignores her. 

Corvo shoots off a bolt in Delilah’s direction, and the witch raises an arm, mark shining. The bolt strikes a newly sprouted vine instead, breaking off as it hits the vine’s hardened exterior.

“Ah, dear Corvo. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” Her glowing eyes fixate on Corvo. 

Corvo loads another bolt as he rolls aside to dodge the next volley of magic bolts. 

“Such a pretty broken thing. Jessamine had _taste_ , certainly. It’s a shame you wasted it all on her-”

Another bolt is shot off, passing through Delilah as she escapes with her own version of blink. 

“- Became her little precious lapdog, spawning a _demon child_.” 

Corvo twists around. He deflects Delilah’s sword blow from behind, the force making his arm burn. 

“Do you know what she did to me? What she _stole_ from me?”

Corvo narrows his eyes, swords locked.

“Did it ever occur to you that you’re fighting the wrong battle? Do you even know _why_ you’re fighting?” 

Delilah’s skin is sickly white up close, lumps of flesh falling away like broken pieces of a glass vase as the stitches holding her body together start to tear apart. 

Corvo grits his teeth, pushing back against Delilah’s sword. 

“You’re a murderer.” 

Delilah laughs out loud at that. 

“So are you. And so is your little ‘ _friend_ ’ over there. I can assure you, what you know of him is only the least of his crimes. Did he ever tell you what he did to your precious Emily when he took her away from the tower? Oh how she _screamed_.” 

It’s clearly a taunt, but Corvo can’t help but flinch, and Delilah takes full advantage of it, grinning as she presses her sword down even harder, now mere inches away from opening up Corvo’s throat. 

Corvo is doing everything he can to push back, but he’s fighting an uphill battle. Delilah is a tenacious, relentless force, pounding down over and over, and Corvo is rapidly losing strength, simply too exhausted to keep up any longer. His muscles burn with a liquefying pain just fighting to hold off Delilah, but he’s still…not. Giving. In.

And Corvo glares at Delilah, desperately grasping for every last bit of strength he can possibly muster from his failing body. 

Emily flashes through his mind. Jessamine. _Daud._

“Daud’s. _Changed._ ” 

Two words, and something extraordinarily bright crystallises in him, igniting a sudden well of energy deep within that burns away all the pain in his body. 

Corvo throws Delilah off with a shout, sword breaking free with an ear-splitting screech. 

The disfigured witch in her stolen body stumbles back, and Corvo is about bring down the finishing blow with a grunt when a vine shoots out, snapping quick, catching his wrist and knocking his sword off. 

The sword is flung somewhere with a clang. 

Before Corvo can think to reach for his crossbow, or his fallen sword, there is a gruff “down” resounding from behind him. 

Corvo complies, drops to his knees. 

Daud comes flying in from above him using Corvo’s shoulder as a vault, jumping in to join the fight with a lightning-fast slash. Delilah easily blinks away with a laugh. Daud’s sword collides into the ground, breaking concrete. 

This isn’t working, Corvo immediately recognises as he scrambles back up. 

Delilah has her full set of supernatural powers, even though she’s in this…maimed body, while Corvo and Daud are both entirely exhausted, unable to use magic. 

Their only chance of beating Delilah – or whatever she is right now – is to outsmart her. Take her by surprise. 

What can do that? 

Corvo is thrown further from his sword as he lunges to the side to duck from another series of black bolts. 

He thinks, mentally running through his inventory. His sword is out of reach. He didn’t bring a gun, no grenades or spring razors either. The only thing he has left is his crossbow. 

He has a few ordinary bolts, no sleep darts, and a single incendiary bolt. 

_Incendiary bolt._ Corvo’s fingers pauses over it, secured in one of his belt loops, his thoughts racing to formulate something. Anything. 

He looks to Daud. The man is unleashing a flurry of strikes onto Delilah, all easily blocked or dodged with quick blinks. 

Corvo can’t use his magic, he’s entirely exhausted, but if Daud can just manage to use his magic one last time…

He loads his crossbow before the plan is even fully solidified. There’s no time, he just has to do it, and trust Daud to follow it. 

“Daud.” Corvo calls out. 

Their eyes meet across the room, grey seeking brown amidst the chaos and connecting in an unshakeable gaze. 

Corvo taps his crossbow once, Daud’s eyes follow. It can mean a million things all at once, Corvo can only blindly hope that Daud will somehow understand his train of thought. 

A faint nod. 

The rest happens in a blur. 

Daud brings his sword down, intentionally colliding into Delilah’s with a clang, blades rubbing against each other. 

Corvo takes aim, blue fluid prepped in the loading well. The trigger is pulled, and the bolt shoots off with a whoosh, slicing through the air, straight for Daud’s exposed back, blocked from Delilah’s view.

Corvo watches it cut the air in a blue flash, heart thumping, just a fraction of a second away from hitting Daud and setting him on fire. Corvo’s breath hitches in his throat. 

_Please_. 

And on perfect cue, Daud’s mark flashes. He disappears into ashes. 

The bolt passes through air, scattering the wisps of ashes where Daud used to stand and strikes Delilah’s chest dead centre. The bolt shatters, spilling the flammable liquid over her.

Delilah immediately bursts into flames, an angry orange, and she screams, patting her mutilated body frantically. It is futile, and the flames catch on to her fingers, whatever’s left of her hair, and she screams louder still.

“I’ll get my revenge, I swear it!!” Delilah shrieks out, but it is no use. 

“No matter how long it takes! I’ll come back for you!!” Her screams last another ten seconds before she finally crumbles, dissolving into ash as the last bit of flame dies off. 

A silence. 

Corvo breathes. 

It’s over. 

He falls to the ground, panting. 

She’s gone. _She’s gone_. 

All of it flashes by in quick bursts: the gunshots, swords clashing, the smell of blood, burnt flesh and worst of all, watching the last spark of life leave a person’s eyes.

Corvo keeps panting, trying to draw as much air as humanly possible. Everything is a blur, he’s overstimulated, and he can’t think. He needs to relax, but his mind and body have been pushed to a complete overdrive within such a short period of time, too frazzled to calm down just yet. 

He’s not unused to this feeling. He’s the Royal Protector, he deals with life-of-death situations every waking hour of his life. He may have trained for decades to have a forced calmness when in actual combat, but nobody is purely immune to fear, to pain, and he can only fight his instincts for so long before it all comes crashing down. Corvo soaks himself in it all, closing his eyes and shutting out his senses, focusing on breathing, getting air in, and out. 

In, out. Repeat. Again. And again. 

He’s alright. Daud’s alright. Delilah’s gone. Everything’s alright. 

A long minute passes. 

When Corvo opens his eyes, he becomes re-aware of the smell of the Void, the massive bone charm still singing in the background, and how exhausted he is right now. His whole body is burning, hurting, and Corvo blinks a few times to get used to the pain. 

Then Corvo suddenly notices that his shirt cuff has come loose. He frowns. His mark is exposed now, eerie black lines sunk into his skin. Corvo tries to cover it back up, but it’s no use, one of the buttons has dropped off, it can’t be secured tightly around his wrist anymore. 

Corvo accepts a vial of Addermire solution when Daud offers him one, a cool, thick stream down his throat. The pain starts to ebb away within minutes, and Corvo sighs in relief, feeling just well enough to stand again. 

“After all that ruckus, I’m certain the Overseers will come to investigate soon. We should destroy this…bone charm before they come. I doubt leaving this portal here will do any good.” Daud says, when both of them have rested for a bit, and he walks over to the largest rib bone of the whale, sword in one hand. 

Corvo is about to nod, and then he freezes. 

Portal. 

That is a _portal_. 

Corvo twists to take a closer look at the bone charm. Still pouring out purple light, the portal is glowing, humming strange melodies from the Void, spewing out streams of cold, empty air. 

A gateway into the Void, the place where all things go.

Its implication sinks in with a chill. His heart starts racing anew. A breath gets choked up in his throat, and Corvo hurriedly scrambles back up, quickly forgetting about his exhaustion and pain. 

He will never get a chance like this again. If that is true-

“Wait.” Corvo calls. “Daud. _Wait_.” 

“What?” 

“I-” Corvo bites his lip. “…Give me a minute, before you destroy it.” 

The Void. If it is truly the place where all living things go in death, then- 

“Why?” Daud asks, confused. “We don’t have time. The Overseers will be here soon.” 

“ _Please._ ” Corvo begs. 

Daud pauses, still confused, but nods in the end, and lowers his sword. Corvo pays him little attention, walking over to the entrance of the portal. The smell of the Void is so strong here, chilly too, as if he was in the actual Void itself in his dreams. 

_This is his chance to set Jessamine free._

Corvo’s heart instantly aches at the thought. He has to do this, he knows he has to, he’s prepared himself for this moment for a long time but- 

His eyes well up with a painful sting, dredging up his usual pool of grief and pain, memories of Jessamine coming up in a flood. 

Jessamine is the only thing anchoring him to the world, giving him purpose and keeping him sane. She is all that drives Corvo to do the things he does, even now. The thought of having to live the rest of his life without Jessamine hurts too much, and some selfish part of Corvo fights to keep her here beside him. Just one more day, one more year…for the rest of his life, so he can always have her by his side, giving him the strength to live on. It’s too early. He even secretly hoped this chance would never come, so he would have a reasonable excuse to keep her here and- 

Corvo takes a deep breath, tries to ease the tight lump in his throat. 

_No_. Enough excuses. He’d promised to let her go if he ever found the chance. And here is his chance, right in front of him, unexpected, abrupt, not in the way he ever wanted, but a _chance_ nonetheless. He needs to let her go. Jessamine’s dead. Nothing can bring her back now, and the heart can never replace her. She’s gone and the least Corvo can do for her now is to give her peace, and honour her memory by doing his best to raise Emily into the Empress Jessamine would be proud of. 

A single thought conjures the heart, familiar weight dropping into his left palm. 

Corvo’s heart twists, his eyes welling up even more. 

_Oh Jessamine_. 

As though sensing Corvo’s thoughts, the heart beats once, and Corvo pulls her close to his chest, wishing he could hold Jessamine one last time, listen to the slow thumping of her heart that matched Corvo’s own. 

_When you are near, I am at peace_. 

Corvo furiously blinks back his tears when he hears that, clutching the heart even closer. The lump in his throat gets tighter. 

_Jessamine_. 

He needs to let her go. Jessamine has already given him so much, she deserves peace now. It’s time to say goodbye. 

Corvo pulls her away, gingerly raises her towards the entrance of the portal, and then _through_. A chill bolts down Corvo’s arm as he does so, his mark flaring up in response to the massive amount of energy pouring out from the Void.

He feels the weight on his palm lift, and he shuts his eyes. He can’t watch. He can’t see her leave him a second time, one _final_ time. 

She’ll be free now, at peace. She’ll no longer be trapped. He should be glad, but-

Why does it feel as if part of him is disappearing along with Jessamine? Why does it feel like his whole world is collapsing onto him, and he’s breaking apart..? 

Corvo takes a shaky breath into his lungs, so tight now as if wrapped in thick binds. No, he’s not ready, he’ll never be ready. 

The weight on his hand finally disappears. 

And then Corvo suddenly feels a cool touch to his jaw. His eyes snap open. 

_Jessamine_. 

White, ethereal, in spirit form. Hair pinned up, dressed in the same attire she had worn during that fateful day. Her body has none of the colour and vibrancy of her in real life, she’s cold, translucent, but it is still Jessamine, and Corvo’s vision gets blurred by the next onslaught of tears. His beautiful butterfly. He hasn’t seen her since that day, and he desperately tries to memorise all her features, every curve, every hair. 

“I miss you.” He says, even as his heart shatters. 

He is taken back to the first time he met her. Corvo was quiet, even then, and she had been but a mere child, joyful, mischievous, coming to gardens where he was often stationed at. Feeding sparrows together, smiling when the sparrows hopped into their palms, allowing their tiny feathers to be stroked. Small fleeting moments of joy that seemed silly then, those memories are now so close to Corvo’s heart.

Jessamine says nothing in response, Corvo’s not sure if she even can. 

_He just wishes he had a bit more time, loved her a bit more._

“I love you.” Corvo whispers, voice breaking. 

The first time they kissed was deep in the night, in Jessamine’s quarters, moonlight glowing through as if shining a spotlight on them. Corvo remembers exactly how cold the night was, how warm Jessamine’s body was pressed to him. He remembers it all. 

Jessamine’s thumb brushes across Corvo’s cheek, fondly, as she used to do. It is not warm, not like her, not alive no more. It is in fact, cold, freezing cold, but the exact touch on his cheek, the thrum, the movement, it’s exactly the same, and Corvo presses into it, missing it _so much_. 

All the memories flash by, the good ones, the bad ones, everything. 

Corvo remembers Emily, how he actually teared up upon holding her, seeing her for the first time. He had fallen in love for the second time in his life that day, and everything in the world was _right_. 

He remembers arguing with Jessamine during the plague days, both stressed and annoyed from everything. And then he remembers bringing her to the same gardens later that very day as an apology, feeding sparrows like they were children again, meeting for the first time. 

The number of nights they spent together, when Corvo felt so safe and cherished beside her, both reassuring each other of their love with soft touches and warm words, wishing the night could last forever wrapped in each other’s arms. 

_What he would do to get it all back._

Corvo furiously blinks yet again to keep the tears back. He won’t cry. Not now. He won’t be selfish. Jessamine made Corvo the happiest person in the world, gave him everything: safety, love, comfort, a family. He won’t let Jessamine’s last memory of him be Corvo in tears, mourning. 

He wants her to know how happy he is to have known her at all. 

And so Corvo forces himself to smile, even though every part of him wants to scream and cry, beg Jessamine not to leave him. 

“Be at peace, my love.” 

Corvo leans in when her hand reaches behind his head, brushing through the thick strands of hair. She used to love brushing through his long hair - now it’s short, everything has changed. His eyes burn again. 

Jessamine, his lovely butterfly. 

She’ll never be by Corvo’s side ever again, he won’t be able to see her, hear her, feel her… _ever again_. He’ll be alone from now on. 

And then Jessamine pulls away. 

Corvo forces himself still, even though his soul is screaming out for her to come back. 

“I love you.” Corvo says once last time. Jessamine smiles at him softly, and steps back into the portal, her white silhouette dissolving into nothing. 

Corvo watches her go, numb, until she’s completely gone, and all he’s staring at is the vast emptiness of the Void. 

She’s gone. 

“Corvo.” 

Corvo can’t react, eyes still focused on the place where Jessamine had been standing. She’s gone. 

“Corvo.” 

Corvo still can’t look away. She’s really gone. 

“ _Corvo._ We have to go.” 

Corvo blinks a few more times, and then nods, stepping away from the portal. 

He already misses her so much. His eyes well up again, a sob rises up, and he furiously swallows it all down. No, not now. Not yet. He can’t. 

“I can take care of it myself. Go wait somewhere else.” Daud tells him softly. 

Was Daud just watching what happened? What does he think of it? It’s a brief thought, fading quickly because Corvo’s too exhausted to care. All he’s feeling is a sharp numbness, as if his mind was buried under a thick layer of cotton. 

Daud pulls out his last vial of Addermire Solution and uncaps it, handing it over to Corvo. Corvo spills a little over himself when he takes it, his hand too unsteady to hold it properly, but he downs a mouthful nonetheless, swirling the thick fluid in his mouth once before swallowing. 

Energy rushes back through him, and Corvo drinks the rest of the precious vial, watching Daud start to tear down the horrendous contraption, cutting through wire and bone to disrupt whatever supernatural connection to the Void.

By the time the light from the portal finally fades, cuts off, Corvo’s hands finally stop shaking. 

Daud leads the way out of the slaughterhouse and back to the inn this time, Corvo following behind. Corvo doesn’t pay much attention, following Daud blindly, his mind too numb to function. 

Just before they reach the inn, Daud pauses at the rooftop, turning back slightly. 

“...I’m sorry, Corvo.” 

Corvo freezes. 

“I don’t want your apology.” Corvo replies, voice hoarse, too tired to be angry, or sad, or to feel anything in general.

\----------

Adrielle and Kent are not at the first floor when Daud goes in. Kent must have gone upstairs to sleep; Adrielle probably followed him. Daud gives it little thought.

Daud gives Corvo a peek when the man steps into the inn, his footsteps unusually loud. Corvo’s stoic as per usual, but his eyes betray him, glazed over and dull. Daud can tell that Corvo’s very distressed, exhausted too, and Daud feels a tug of _something_ inside him. 

They should be happy that they stopped the Leviathan Children, bashed the witch’s plan to pieces, but he feels a stark coldness inside him instead. Emptiness. 

The night hadn’t been easy for both of them, even more so for Corvo. 

Facing the cultists, then Delilah – her in a stolen body – and for Corvo, saying a final goodbye to Jessamine, who Daud now presumably understands had been trapped here somehow, most likely by the Outsider’s hand. 

It’s…overwhelming. 

He didn’t know that, Corvo never said anything about Jessamine – why would he anyway? It brings some of Corvo’s behaviour to perspective, but in the end, it changes nothing. Daud still killed her, and she’s gone, for real now. 

He knew Jessamine meant a lot to Corvo, but he only ever understood it as a statement, a mere fact. Actually _seeing_ it made it real. Their bond was real, their feelings were real, and Daud took that all away. 

As the Knife of Dunwall, he was heartless, cruel. He had such little respect for the people he killed and for their loved ones. He didn’t care if they deserved it or not, didn’t once bother to think of the families he was tearing apart, of the connections he was breaking. Why would he, when he felt so damn _special_ having the Outsider’s favour, when he felt so powerful? 

Where did that all get him? 

Daud’s heart aches. Everything he did, the lives he’s ruined, he’s never wronged anyone as much as he wronged Corvo. He took so much away from the Royal Protector and – 

“Corvo, I-”

"Shut up."

"Just listen, you're not-" Daud takes a step closer to him. He has to tell Corvo this. He wants him to know that-

“Shut. Up.” Corvo's voice is dangerously still. 

“I just-”

“I said, _SHUT UP!!_ ” Corvo yells, voice filling the entire room. 

Daud flinches and shuts up. Corvo has never yelled before, not even at him. 

A few tense seconds pass, and Corvo moves over to the table, lighting up a lamp and dragging out some writing materials, face still blank. 

Daud heads into the kitchen to brew some tea, just to get away from Corvo for a moment. Tea leaves. Cups. Water. Kettle. He works through the motions automatically, his mind a whirl.

He doesn’t know what to do. His regret is pounding hard on him, he feels absolutely horrible, wishing he could take everything back once again, but that is the least of his concerns right now. 

What’s more important is _Corvo_. 

Daud wants to apologise to him, let him know that – Daud doesn’t even know _what_ himself - but Corvo clearly doesn’t want to hear any of it. Daud doesn’t want to provoke him any further, if he wants to be left alone, Daud will leave him alone, but…

Corvo is always finding ways to help Daud – forget that he doesn’t deserve any of his kindness. Corvo’s helped him with Billie, and he’s tried to comfort Daud just a few hours ago when Daud was in a deep self-hating pool, starting to doubt everything once more. 

At the very least, Daud wants to repay back the favour. 

Corvo’s a man that Daud respects and admires like none other. He is insufferably kind despite whatever the world throws at him, and he has always been an unwavering support for anyone in need of help. 

But the question comes: 

Who is there to give Corvo that same kindness he gives others? Who is there to support him like the countless times he support others? Who is there to tell him everything will be alright? 

Daud’s heart twists at the answer, a deep gut-wrenching pain sinking into his bones. 

_Nobody_. 

There is nobody Corvo trusts anymore. He has been hurt by too many things to feel safe enough to let somebody in ever again. He puts on a strong façade, hides himself under layers and layers of steel-bolted locks, but deep inside Daud knows that he’s in pain. Alone. Scared. Fighting so hard to fix himself back together when he keeps falling apart. 

Daud doesn’t know how much he can help Corvo, if he can even do it in the first place. He’s the last person that Corvo will ever want to get help from, but he wants to _try_ , with all his being, heart and soul, to let Corvo know that _he’s not alone_. 

Daud swallows, and pours out two cups of tea, bringing them outside. 

Corvo is writing a report of some kind, face still frozen in that insufferably blank expression. Daud swallows again, and then sets the cup by Corvo’s side. 

The man flinches, apparently having not noticed Daud at all, which is very unusual. He must really be out of it. 

Corvo’s eyes meet his, surprised. 

So transparent for once, and yet Daud still has no idea what he’s thinking. 

“Drink something.” 

Corvo flinches again, and then his eyes become liquid, reddening again as he looks to the side, blinking rapidly. He looks so vulnerable, hurt, in pure despair. 

Daud’s heart aches. 

He can see it in Corvo’s eyes, his trembling brow. Years of stress and suffering being locked away inside him, building, piling up until it’s a humongous mountain that can’t be held together anymore, an avalanche waiting to break free and steamroll him into shreds. Daud can see all the pain he wants to let loose, every scream, every cry… 

How many times has Corvo done this to himself, tormenting himself all alone in the dark? How many times has he clutched onto Jessamine’s ring, pushing the tears back, never allowing himself even the smallest reprieve? 

When Daud looks at him now, he doesn’t see the mighty Royal Protector. He sees Corvo Attano, a broken man shattered by tremendous loss, a man who misses his lover, misses his family, and seeks nothing else but the permission to _let go_. 

Daud’s the one that turned him into this. Corvo’s been hurting so much, for far too long. No more, Daud firmly decides, he won’t allow Corvo to keep doing this to himself.

“Corvo…” 

The man’s eyes flicker up at his own name, watery and liquid. 

“…You don’t have to hold anything back.” Daud tells him very softly. 

Corvo yet again flinches, alarmed like some prey animal. His eyes search Daud again, desperate. He’s so stiff, like a block of ice. Daud can’t tell if he’s going to lash out or bolt.

Daud’s heart thumps once in trepidation.

And then Corvo bursts into tears. 

Daud freezes, wholly unprepared. 

Tears are streaming down Corvo’s face like a broken tap, face scrunched up in sheer agony. Every drop is pain, and Daud feels all his despair resonate out, everything Corvo has carefully concealed for years, finally let free. Losing his lover, Jessamine. Losing Emily. Getting brutally tortured in Coldridge. Being betrayed, over and over. The stress, the fear, the pain. All the things he had lost pouring out in his tears and sobs. A man allowing himself to grieve after years of holding it back. 

Daud should say something, do something, but his mind feels like a jammed machine, unable to function. 

He lets his instincts guide him instead, and he rests a hand on Corvo’s shoulder, squeezing gently. 

_You’re going to be alright_. Daud wants to tell him. 

Corvo’s breathing is ragged, choked, interposed by sniffles and soft sobs. His face is wet, his clothes have small splotches all over, and Daud gives his shoulder a squeeze again. 

_You’re not alone_. 

Daud’s throat is choked up, he can’t seem to vocalise any of his thoughts, but he hopes Corvo can sense it, feel it. 

“She’s gone.” Corvo whines, pure misery laced in his voice. His shoulders get wrecked by another wave of sobs and Daud’s heart just breaks further. He fights to say something to Corvo, reassure him perhaps, but nothing comes.

“She’s gon-” Corvo gets cut off by a sob, and his words reduce into unintelligible mumblings. Daud just squeezes Corvo’s shoulder, still unable to say a thing. 

Corvo needs this, Daud knows. He’s been chasing this for too long, the human need to express his pain, and Daud wants to give it to him, even if seeing Corvo like this hurts him beyond measure. 

Daud simply owes Corvo so much. The man has _saved_ him. Corvo has guided him onto a different path, opened his eyes to a whole new world which Daud used to spend his life destroying. Corvo gave Daud peace, let him know compassion, kindness, _happiness_. He showed Daud so many beautiful things to treasure and fight for in the world, and it burns Daud’s very soul that the man himself has blinded himself to those things, unable to feel them anymore. 

Daud will do everything he can to put Corvo back together again. Alleviate his loneliness, and make him see the world Daud now sees because of him. Bright, colourful, radiant. 

He wants to make Corvo _happy_ again. 

It is a very long while before Corvo calms down, unmoving in the chair and Daud pushes the now-cold cup of tea into Corvo’s even colder fingers, silently urging him to drink. 

He does, but doesn’t look up at Daud. His face is very red. 

“Alright?” Daud asks tentatively.

A nod. 

“…Do you want something to eat?” 

A shake. 

“Sleep?” 

Another shake. 

Daud gives Corvo’s shoulder a last squeeze before letting go. Corvo's still in a state of distress, it's written all over his face, but Daud can sense that he probably needs some space to himself right now.

Daud's own guilt is starting to loom over him once again, and he goes over to the couch, picking out a book to distract him from the heavy sensation.

He doesn’t hear anything for perhaps hours, and when Daud finally looks up from the book, Corvo is slumped over at the table. 

For a frantic second, Daud thinks something’s wrong with him, but he sees the man’s shoulders rise and fall at a slow pace, head buried into his arms at the table, and Daud relaxes. 

He’s just asleep. 

Daud sets his book down, shuffling towards the table, taking care not to make any noise. The man looks relaxed, vulnerable, and Daud allows his gaze to linger on him for a few long seconds before looking away, going upstairs. 

A thick yellow blanket is brought down – Daud’s own, and is gently draped over the sleeping man, hanging across Corvo’s shoulders. 

“I’m sorry.” Daud feels the need to say, voice breaking. His vision blurs. “I’m _so_ sorry.” 

There is no response, Corvo remains fast asleep. Daud’s fists remain clenched by his side. He takes a few breaths to calm himself, and then walks over to the table, picking up the papers Corvo had been writing. It’s a report, to the Empress and the Duke, reporting of the Leviathan Children, and it’s…incomplete. 

The report is left hanging on the word ‘cult-’ and Daud spares a look to the sleeping Royal Protector, and back at the report. 

He then notices a strip of cloth lying beside the pen, broken threads near the edges and a fallen button on the table. Daud blinks at it, puzzled, and then it clicks. 

He takes the unfinished report, the pen, Corvo’s broken shirt cuff and flicks off the lamp.

\----------

The next thing Daud knows, it is dawn, and Kent is gently shaking him awake.

“Uhm…Daud..? Are you alright?” 

Daud blinks a few times, still trapped in the warm cocoon of tiredness. Where is he..? 

“Daud?” 

It’s still fairly dark, but Daud can faintly make out Kent in front of him. 

Why is Kent in his room? 

Daud grimaces, finally gets up, groaning as he takes a look at his surroundings.

It is only then that he realises he’s not in his room, he’s lying on the couch. 

What? What happened last night?

His head throbs with a dull ache, his mind is sluggishly slow. Thoughts are coming in a thick sludge, muffled, and then memories from last night start to trickle back in. 

Delilah. The Leviathan Children. The bone charm. And…Corvo. 

“Where’s he?” Daud asks, voice thick with exhaustion. 

“Who? …Corvo? He’s not here.” Kent says. “Uh are you sure you’re okay?” 

Daud nods. The thick yellow blanket over him is thrown off without much regard. 

His eyes flitter to the table. The shirt cuff Daud repaired is gone, and so is the report (that Daud too finished for him). 

Daud groans again, trying to get his thoughts in order. But everything keeps slipping away, fading in and out, like trying to grasp at the puffs of smoke from a cigar, and Daud gives up completely. 

It’s no use, he’s too exhausted. He can’t focus on anything. He needs to rest. 

“I’m going to sleep.” He mumbles. He doesn’t wait for Kent’s response, staggers back upstairs to his room with his blanket. 

He throws off his coat vaguely towards the chair by his table, misses, and watches it drop to the ground in a pile. Daud sighs at that, dropping onto his bed instead and closing his eyes. 

Eventually though, the thought of leaving his coat in a distasteful heap on the dusty ground becomes annoying enough to make Daud consciously take the effort to walk over and pick it up. He lets out a jaw-cracking yawn right after, and then promptly goes back huddle under his blanket, slipping into a deep sleep. 

When he wakes, the first thing he notices is a small folded paper on the floor, presumably fallen out from one of his coat pockets. 

Daud frowns, goes to pick it up and gently unfolds it. 

Only three words are written on it. 

_Thank you Daud._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second (longer) part is finally here! 
> 
> It's the most difficult chapter to write thus far but I'm satisfied with how it turned out. Hope all of you will enjoy it too! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! :)


	21. Stars only shine at Night

The note the Daud got from Corvo is a queer thing. Just three words, on cheap parchment paper, and yet, it is the one thing Daud catches himself staring at one too many times in a day.

Like right now, a bright early morning in the inn, nearly a _year_ since they took down the Leviathan Children, and the infuriating note is still the one thing his eyes search for in the dark.

Daud instantly curses when that happens, forces himself to look away. 

How many times has he stared and studied the stupid note, as if waiting for the words to change? How many times has he angrily chucked it into his drawers to be forgotten, only for the note to mysteriously make its way back up to his desk, unfolded, a greeting each morning? 

It shouldn’t dominate Daud’s thoughts, but it does. More accurately, _Corvo_ does. 

Daud’s not unused to it. Corvo is a mystery Daud’s been trying so hard to understand for the past three, four years, but this year seems…different somehow. His thoughts, whenever they linger on Corvo, don’t seem to follow the same pattern as they usually did for the past years.

His big abstract thoughts of why Corvo spared him, or why Corvo can be so kind-hearted have suddenly taken an appalling turn for mindless, pointless thoughts like what Corvo is eating for dinner, or if he’s sleeping yet. Even his usual attempts of trying to understand Corvo have become half-hearted at best, things he’s forcing himself to do rather than actually _wanting_ to do them.

It’s utterly ridiculous, annoying too, because Daud has no idea what caused the change, and it’s this change that frustrates him more than Corvo himself. 

_Something’s_ changed between them, and Daud can’t identify what. Yet another mystery Daud doesn’t need. He groans at the thought. As if he needs another one. 

He gets off the bed, angrily stomping over to shove the note back into its drawer where it can’t be seen (Daud knows it will somehow return back to the desk the next morning). 

He changes into a fresh set of clothing, freshens up in the washroom, and then goes downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee as per usual. 

“Good morning Daud. You’re up early.” Kent smiles upon seeing him. 

“Good morning.” Daud greets, going over to his usual spot in the kitchen, pulling up the bag of coffee beans. 

Kent is making porridge today – to which Daud brightens up at. Kent knows that it’s Daud’s favourite thing to eat in the morning. 

And just then, the other monster in Daud’s life, the cat, prances into the kitchen, announcing its arrival with a sharp meow. 

“Hey.” Kent instantly smiles, reaching down to pet the cat, who purrs at the attention.

Daud just frowns, glares at the stupid thing as he watches Kent pamper the cat with long strokes down its body. 

“Dishcloth. Flea-sack. Door bell.” Daud grumbles as he scoops out the coffee beans. 

Kent chuckles at that. 

His ongoing war with the cat, thankfully, is the one thing that hasn’t changed over the past year. The cat still retains its habit of sleeping on Daud’s books (particularly the ones he’s actually reading), and it still uses Daud’s door as a scratching post (ever since Daud started locking his room to prevent the cat from going in and messing his things).

“You two should learn to get along. She’s so sweet to people.” Daud doesn’t miss that teasing tone in Kent’s voice, recently acquired over the year (Daud blames Feodor). “I think we should get her a friend.”

Daud is horrified. 

“No. Never. No _fucking_ way. One fur mat is more than enough.” 

Kent chuckles again, going back to preparing the porridge. 

Coffee scent fills the air soon enough, and the whalers start coming down for breakfast, collecting their trays and coffee. 

Daud eats at the table too, vaguely listening to the various conversations going on at the table as he scoops in mouthfuls of porridge. 

Kent is talking to Feodor and Devon about flowers, of all things. Thomas is talking about wine. Zachary is by himself as usual, cat on his lap. And then the children are in a corner of the room, engaged in their own discussion as well. 

It’s a sight that occurs every morning, but it still warms Daud’s heart whenever he sees it. He’d secretly dreamt of this many times in Dunwall, but he never thought it as a possibility. He always thought himself too far gone down the road of bloodshed to ever turn back. If it weren’t for Corvo sparing his life and showing him this path, he would have never gotten to know this happiness. 

His spoon, halfway raised to his mouth, pauses. Daud frowns. 

He’s extremely grateful to Corvo for everything he’s done for Daud, and once again, it makes that burning desire to help Corvo spark alight. He wants to make Corvo happy, wants him to be able to trust and rely on somebody again, those are things Daud is very certain of, but his motivations for wanting to do so are becoming unclear. 

Gratitude and repayment for Corvo’s kindness don’t seem to encompass all of Daud’s desire to help him, and neither does his need to atone for his past mistakes. There’s something _more_ driving him. Something keeps drawing him to Corvo like a moth to a lamp, but his thoughts simply refuse to be scrutinised, bolting away as soon as Daud leans in to take a look at them. Daud just can’t seem to figure out what it all means. Maybe he just doesn’t want to. 

Daud sighs internally. 

He just…doesn’t even know what he thinks of Corvo now. That’s the problem, isn’t it? 

Respect and curiosity are easy to figure out, but after that…Daud has no idea. 

Corvo’s not exactly an acquaintance, their history is too deep to allow that. He’s not an ally either, not anymore, because they aren’t working together. 

Is he a friend then? 

Daud pauses at the thought. 

He may have a severe lack of experience in this field, but he does admit that he wants to see Corvo well and happy, he wants to support Corvo, help him in any way he can. But a friendship goes both ways, and although the thought of having Corvo as a friend is something Daud is willing to consider, he’s not sure if Corvo will feel the same. After all, Daud _did_ kill Jessamine, nothing will erase that sin. 

Besides, there’s no way Corvo will consider _friendship_ when he still hasn’t even forgiven Daud yet. 

Ah _forgiveness_ , another hard subject Daud hates to dwell on. 

His spoon drops into the now empty bowl, and Daud starts sipping his coffee. Bitter, with the faintest sweetness, just the way he likes it. 

He’s doing everything he can to atone for his mistakes, but he understands that forgiveness can never be the end goal in mind, because forgiveness is something _Corvo_ gives him. It’s not something Daud can expect or hope for (he doesn’t dare to, anyway). 

It is quickly shoved out of his mind, banished away so Daud cannot linger on it. He promptly empties his cup of coffee. 

It’s all no use. His thoughts are going in a circular fashion again, going between respect and curiosity, and back to friendship again. He’s learning nothing new. 

…Maybe he’ll get more insight into it all the next time Corvo visits Serkonos again.

\----------

As it turns out, Daud didn’t have to wait very long for that to happen.

Just days later during an early afternoon, Daud is explaining certain terms on the anatomy book to Ralph when the cat runs over to the door, meowing enthusiastically. 

Daud instantly stops and looks to the door, as does Ralph. They both know that the cat is only this energetic when a certain _somebody_ comes to town. 

And on cue, the door creaks open. 

The first thing Daud notices about Corvo is oddly not his new coat (of a pale beige), but instead, his hair, which is an inch longer than it was last year, fringe nearly touching his eyebrows (why Daud’s eyes focus on such a stupidly pointless detail is beyond him). 

Ralph immediately lets out a squeal, drops the book, and dashes towards Corvo. The man welcomes the hug, ruffling Ralph’s hair affectionately, and then drops to give the cat a pet as well.

“You’re back!” Ralph jumps up and down. 

“It’s good to see you too.” Corvo smiles, then gestures to the book on the floor. “What have you been doing?” 

“I was studying! Master Daud was just teaching me about the muscles in an arm.” 

“Was he?” Corvo’s eyes flicker over to Daud. 

Daud stills, suddenly anxious, but relaxes almost instantly when Corvo’s eyes spark alight with an approving note, no trace of the animosity Daud didn’t realise he had been dreading to see.

Ralph nods at Corvo. 

“He showed me how to feel for the pulse yesterday. And last week he taught me how to remember the names of bones.” 

Hearing Ralph say that makes Daud freeze. 

When Ralph first approached him with a question about the finger bones (Kent was out then), the boy was a little nervous, as if expecting to be yelled at, but he quickly relaxed when Daud patiently explained everything as best as he could, asking if Ralph had any more questions. The boy had instantly brightened up, and then more questions came, and more. And soon enough, before Daud was even aware of it, Ralph started hounding him in the afternoons and evenings, asking innumerable questions and demanding demonstrations. 

Daud hasn’t realised he’s made that into a habit. 

“That’s great, you must have been working very hard.” Corvo pets Ralph once more, stands up. 

And then Corvo’s eyes meet his, a million conversations exchanging between them without a single word being said. 

“Daud.” Corvo suddenly greets. He doesn’t smile, but it’s a close thing. 

“…Corvo.” Daud cautiously returns. 

Corvo’s eyes are like pieces of amber in the light, and Daud gets lost in the swirl of colour, full of life now, glittering. The greyish hue that used to make his expression dim and dull has mostly retreated away, and Corvo’s eyes now hold a lively spark, almost like a firework, bright and energetic. Daud’s heart warms at that. Corvo’s definitely doing a lot better now, and Daud senses that the man wants him to see that. 

There is a short silence. 

And Corvo looks aside, goes upstairs into his usual room beside Daud’s to put down his things (Daud keeps the room vacant throughout the year). 

Ralph picks up his book and resumes asking Daud his questions, quickly snapping Daud out from his thoughts. He looks away from the stairs, focusing his attention on Ralph instead.

It can wait. 

The whalers all excite at Corvo’s return, spending the whole night drinking and talking to him, asking about his life, and Emily. Corvo asks Kent about Adrielle as well, and the physician flushes deeply, saying ‘it’s good’. The whalers no longer fear Corvo anymore; they all call him by first name now, and Daud sits at the side listening to it all, but never participating. 

It is only late at night after the whalers retire that Daud gets to talk to Corvo for real again, with Corvo’s mark flaring bright outside Daud’s window to signal the start of their nightly lessons.

Daud pockets two vials of Addermire solution before he heads out, his own mark flaring as he meets up with Corvo on the rooftop. 

Corvo is looking out into the sky when Daud appears, and Daud follows his gaze. 

The night sky looks like any other night sky in Serkonos. Dark, cloudless, with the moon hanging in the centre of it all, its pale glow bathing the whole landscape in white. But the stars – Daud’s eyes widen - every star is scattered across the sky shining like little gemstones, a wondrous glittering array that stretches past the horizon and beyond. 

It’s so beautiful. 

“Dunwall’s always cloudy.” 

Daud grunts in agreement. 

“You could never see the Wolf Major constellation.” Corvo adds. 

Daud looks up to the right, traces the stars that make up the constellation. He never really paid attention to the stars back in Dunwall, it always seemed like a childish activity then, and it is only in Serkonos that he got to know this beauty, above him at all times, if he only cared to look up. 

And then Daud suddenly remembers one particular constellation he read of in a book. The tip of his lips lifts. 

“There’s a _Corvo_ constellation-” Daud looks for the cluster of stars somewhere to the left, “-there.” 

Corvo shoots him a puzzled look, taken aback for a moment. 

“There’s such a thing?” 

Daud nods. 

“The four stars forming a rectangle over there, slightly above that tower.” Daud points it out for Corvo to see. 

“Where?” Corvo leans closer towards Daud to look. 

Daud stiffens. He can almost feel Corvo’s warmth, hear his breathing. 

“There.” He points again. 

“Oh.” Corvo withdraws, seemingly disappointed. “It look nothing like a crow.” 

“Most constellations don’t look like anything.” Daud shrugs. 

Corvo doesn’t respond, he continues to stare up into the sky, wonder in his eyes. The furrow in Corvo’s eyebrows that used to make him look ten years older than he is is gone, his shoulders are relaxed, and he’s _smiling_. He looks…happy. 

Daud’s heart warms. It’s…nice…to see Corvo like this. 

“…I have a few astronomy books in the inn.” Daud suddenly says, carefully avoiding Corvo’s gaze. “If you’d like to borrow them.” He adds hastily after a few seconds. 

“I…” Corvo stops, hand suddenly touching his chest. “Thank you.” 

The heavy gaze lifts. 

Another silence comes as Corvo returns back to admiring the stars, while Daud peeks at him from the corner of his eye. 

Corvo’s still smiling, just faintly, contentedness very apparent on his face, and Daud just continues staring. It’s just so foreign, seeing Corvo like this. He used to look solemn, grey, gloomy even, like the world was crushing him down – which Daud supposes, it _was_ , but now he looks warm and approachable, more true to himself perhaps, a change that Daud decides he likes. A change Daud decides he wants to make sure _stays_. 

But now he’s forgetting why they’re even meeting like this late in the night instead of sleeping. They didn’t come to look at stars, they came to practice, to train. 

Daud casts another glance at Corvo, about to break the silence, but ultimately, his words dry up in his throat. He can’t seem to do it. It had taken years for Corvo to be able to enjoy this short moment of peace after all he’s suffered through, and there’s no way Daud can take that away from him just yet, he doesn’t have the heart to.

And so Daud lets Corvo stare up at the stars for a few long minutes before clearing his throat, getting Corvo’s attention. 

“So, how much have you progressed?” 

Corvo’s smile fades as he turns back. He stares at Daud for a few moments, and then his mark flares. 

The world turns grey as time comes to a halt, but only for a second, before the world resumes movement once more, air flowing past Daud in short gusts. Corvo emerges from a blink few steps away. 

That’s surprising. Daud didn’t even expect him to be able to slow time yet, much less stop time. 

“That’s good.” Daud says, genuinely impressed. 

Corvo’s improving a lot, and fast. Daud had taken decades to learn how to bend time while blinking, nursing a few sprained ankles and one broken bone once, while Corvo only took a few years to achieve that. Granted, he did have Daud’s help, but his progress is still commendable. 

“Still not enough.” Corvo responds with a huff. 

Billie comes to mind the moment he says that. Always seeking to improve, always looking to better herself, that was – is - Billie, and that is Corvo as well. 

“You’ll get there.” Daud knows Corvo doesn’t need the motivation, but he feels like saying it anyway. 

And their lesson begins. 

Daud asks Corvo to blink from rooftop to rooftop, stopping time mid-air for as long as he can manage. Corvo follows his instruction, he jumps off the rooftop fearlessly, mark flaring as he halts time. 

The world grows cold for a second before coming alive once more, Corvo starts to fall, and he releases his magic, landing on the next rooftop in a blue flash. 

“You need to regulate the release of your magic. You’re letting go too much magic, and too quickly, so your control over time slips.”

Corvo merely nods, turns around to blink back to the rooftop where he started from. Daud sees him take a breath, before his mark shines. 

The time-stopping effect once again fades quickly, like a tide receding at shore, gravity takes hold, and Corvo re-appears beside Daud. 

Daud frowns.

“You’re doing it again.” 

Corvo tries again. 

He makes the same mistake. 

Again. 

And again. 

The sixth time Corvo does it, Daud notices that he actually loosens his fist prematurely mid-air, the motion coinciding with the moment his time bending effect stops. 

Daud folds his arms as Corvo tries it again, making that exact motion once more. How strange, Corvo’s not usually this careless. He makes a genuine effort to fix his mistakes. 

It looks as if…

Corvo blinks between the rooftops a few more times, and Daud sees Corvo do the same thing over and over. He narrows his eyes. 

It’s true, Corvo is _doing this on purpose_. Why? 

And then the man appears beside Daud from blue smoke, a fresh layer of sweat covering his body.

He’s faking it. He’s _definitely_ faking it. 

Daud stares at Corvo, considers it only for the briefest moment, and then uses his whole weight to shove Corvo off the edge of the rooftop.

The man doesn’t yelp, or make any sound of surprise. He flounders for a bit as he starts plummeting to the ground, while Daud just watches from the rooftop, hand readying some magic to cast ‘pull’…just in case. 

Thankfully, Corvo’s instincts take hold quickly. His mark shines and the world halts for a good five seconds, enough time for Corvo to regain his bearings and blink back to the rooftop. 

Daud narrows his eyes further, now fixing his gaze on the Royal Protector, knelt down on the next rooftop. 

“I _knew_ it.” Daud states flatly. “You were lying to me. You could do it all along.” 

Corvo stiffens for a second, before slowing rising to his feet. He has the gall to look sheepish.

“I just-”

“If you’re going to say ‘wanted to see what I’d do’, I’ll fucking _shoot_ you.” 

Corvo says nothing, confirming Daud’s suspicions. The jerk. He was trying to manipulate Daud _again!_

“Asshole.” Daud mutters under his breath as he folds his arms, glaring at Corvo. 

Daud waits for the usual rush of annoyance to come…except it _doesn’t_. Instead, there is a strange fuzzy feeling, tingling, like tickling the hairs on his body. 

Daud falters completely, takes a moment to re-evaluate his emotions again. 

What? Why isn’t he angry? 

Daud usually gets so frustrated when Corvo blatantly manipulates him like this. _Daud’s_ the master manipulator after all, Corvo performing _his_ job on him is basically the greatest insult to his pride. So why doesn’t he feel _anything?_

Daud clenches his fists, his thoughts starting to spin.

It’s true, there’s not a single shred of frustration anywhere. But why? 

What’s wrong with him? Why is it that everything he knows about Corvo has been turned upside down again? Something fundamental has obviously changed between them, something important. 

What, no, _why_ is he feeling this? It makes no sense. 

“Daud?” 

He snaps out from his thoughts.

“What?” 

Corvo considers Daud for a while, but then he shakes his head, and looks away. His hand is on his chest again. Daud’s lips tighten into a line. 

“…What is it?” 

Corvo shakes his head once more, more firmly this time. 

“I…Nothing. It’s nothing.” He sighs. “Let’s go back.” 

But Daud catches the faintest glimpse of his eyes, a hard shell forming over them, and stops. 

“No, you want to say something. What?” 

Corvo’s looks up, hand to his chest, the shell over his eyes crumbling away. 

“I…” 

Daud sees Corvo’s throat bob up and down once as he swallows. 

“I just-” He stops again, sighs. 

Corvo’s hand goes to his chest yet again and this time, Daud’s eyes follow. Corvo’s fingers are curling around something, a small circular bump near his neck, hidden underneath his clothes, something like…

Jessamine’s signet ring. 

And Daud completely stills. 

Suddenly, the simple action Corvo’s been repeating the whole night takes on a whole new meaning. 

Daud pauses. 

Something is clearly bothering Corvo, enough that he’s openly doing something he probably only does in private. And not to mention that he also lied to Daud, presumably to get this chance to talk to him alone. 

And in fact, Daud now realises, all the signs were there, he should have noticed something wrong from the very beginning if he had stopped being so fixated on himself or his stupid feelings and paid more attention to Corvo.

“What is it..?” Daud softens his tone. 

“I just-” Corvo takes a breath. His tone is very different from usual, solemn, tremoring like a harp string. There’s gravity in his voice. 

He wants to say something important. 

Something in Corvo’s eyes makes Daud unconsciously hold his breath. There is only one thing that can make Corvo hesitate like this, and Daud isn’t ready for it.

The air grows tense, and there’s a sudden flare of anticipation and dread in Daud. His heartbeat starts pulsing faster, harder, and every other noise fades away as Daud focuses all his attention on what Corvo is about to say. 

The silence drags on, the most unbearable one Daud has ever felt. His chest feels tight, he doesn’t dare to move, or even blink, just stands there waiting, waiting, his chest nearly bursting open from the sheer pressure his heart is exerting on his ribcage. 

Tension rises, reaching the highest point, and Corvo opens his mouth. 

“ _I forgive you._ ” 

Daud jerks up instantly, eyes connecting with Corvo’s. His mind goes blank, insides turned to mush. 

What- 

His first instinct is to have Corvo repeat that, because he’s so sure he didn’t just say _that_. He must have misheard it, or maybe his ears hallucinated hearing it in the first place. 

“I forgive you.” Corvo repeats. 

Daud flinches. 

It finally registers, and a barrage of uncontrollable emotions is dumped onto him, wiping out any rational thought. It’s absurd, but he’s not ready for this, he’s never prepared himself. 

His frantic mind quickly switches to denial, to fight back, churning out thought after thought to drown out the damnable three words that are already rooting in.

This isn’t happening. No, this _can’t_ happen. He’s spent years telling himself over and over that he doesn’t deserve it, that he can’t expect it, because he clearly _doesn’t_. So why- 

And then everything he did to Corvo rushes by. The first time they met, Corvo’s dead eyes as Daud struck Jessamine down. The second time they met, Corvo poisoned and barely lucid. The third time they met, provoking Corvo to attack him. And so on. 

“…I killed Jessamine.” Daud says, voice hoarse. He needs to make sure. 

Pain darts across Corvo’s eyes, but he nods. 

“I framed you, had you tortured.” Daud continues. 

Corvo nods again.

“I kidnapped Emily. Your daughter.” 

Another nod. 

“I hurt you. I destroyed your life. Destroyed your family-” Daud has to pause to take in a ragged breath. “ _I_ …did all that.” 

A nod. 

“…And I forgive you. For everything.” Corvo says. 

It’s taking everything from Corvo to say this, but still, Daud’s mind refuses to listen. Does Corvo not understand what Daud has done to him? 

Daud searches Corvo’s eyes, desperately trying to seek out that insincerity that he knows must be there, but instead, he finds those three words resonating out, forcing Daud to _feel_ it, over and over. There is no escaping, no denying. 

_Corvo is truly forgiving him._

He’s never ever dared to dream of this. It’s a forbidden thought for Daud. He’s always tried to bury it aside, stomp it dead, because there was just no way he could ever deserve it. He needs to suffer for his sins. That’s his punishment. He needs to hurt. Forgiveness…isn’t for him. 

But no matter how many times he tells himself this, no matter how many times he intentionally let all that guilt sink in to remind himself that he deserves _nothing but pain_ , he still yearns. He aches. Deep inside, he _wants_ to be forgiven, he _wants_ it so, so badly, and he’s never dared to admit it, not even in the privacy of his own mind. 

And now, that traitorous part of him – that Daud does everything to lock away - has reawakened with Corvo’s words, breaking free from its cage and rising to the top, already burning away all the futile thoughts of denial and easing all the imaginary knots in his body that have stuck there for years. 

He’s not ready for all this. 

Those three words are making Daud feel a whole myriad of emotions he doesn’t even have a name for, but worst of all, those three words are _healing_ him, and the sensation is getting too strong for Daud to keep fighting any longer. 

Daud’s eyes start to sting. No, this isn’t fair. He doesn’t deserve this. He must be punished more. He can’t let this feeling come and take away all the pain that’s rightfully his to bear. He can’t accept this. 

He doesn’t realise he’s completely frozen until he’s suddenly in Corvo’s arms, wrapped in a solid warmth. 

Daud’s instinct is to resist, push it all aside. His mind is still at war with itself: one corner protesting against this warm feeling, and another hungering for it. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

He’s screaming at himself that he doesn’t deserve this kindness, doesn’t want this, but Corvo only presses in, wordlessly telling Daud that _he deserves this, wants this_ , urging Daud ever so gently to accept his forgiveness. 

For every ‘no’ Daud’s mind repeats, Corvo responds with a soundless ‘yes’. 

It’s too much. This is real. This is really happening. 

A hand goes up Daud’s back, and he can’t help but flinch. He has spent a lifetime expecting to be hurt when touched, but Corvo does none of that. The hand that should want to take hold of a knife and drive it in as far as it can go is in fact, not holding a knife, but is instead caressing him gently, reassuring him with soft pats to the back. 

It’s all so primal, and the intimate touch grounds Daud more than the words do. He has never trusted words, words can lie, but _this_ , he understands. _This_ , he trusts. Daud can feel everything Corvo wants to communicate with him, and it’s all so warm, comforting, _real_. 

There is more stinging in his eyes.

Corvo forgives him. He’s really being forgiven. 

And Daud finally relents. He stops fighting against the current and lets go with a single sob, allowing himself to drift away and relax. 

Relief comes in a massive tidal wave as it rushes through his body, soaking through muscle and bone and easing in with a tingling warmth, draining out every bit of pain trapped inside him.

How many years has it been? How long has this desire burnt within Daud, trying to hide in the darkness only to end up lighting up everything instead? 

A bout of silent tears come next, forming a dark patch on Corvo’s clothes, but the man doesn’t mind or comments on it. Daud’s never dared to dream of this happening, but it is, and Daud is nothing but grateful, clinging to this sensation like his life depends on it. Corvo wordlessly keeps patting Daud’s back, each touch slowly dismantling Daud’s defences and coaxing that growing well of brightness inside him to come up and ease his years of self-imposed suffering. 

“I’m sorry.” Daud whispers. “I’m so sorry, for everything.” 

“I know.” Corvo replies quietly, hand pressed into Daud’s back. 

Daud hears the crack in Corvo’s voice, knows that this moment is equally emotional for Corvo as it is for him, and he quickly embraces Corvo back, hand resting on Corvo’s back, eager to offer his own support and comfort for him. He can’t be so selfish. Corvo must have held it in for so long, waiting, and waiting, struggling to actually say the words. 

Does he know how much this means to Daud? 

Daud wants him to, but words are lost to him, and he tells it to Corvo the only way he can. 

_Thank you_ , Daud tries to say as his fingers graze over Corvo’s back. _Thank you so much, for everything, for saving me, for letting me know happiness, giving me hope again. Thank you for forgiving me._

Corvo must sense the sentiment, he lets out a very quiet sob, and sinks his head into the crook of Daud’s neck. 

“I forgive you.” The words are breathed into Daud’s neck.

Daud’s clothes start to turn damp, but he says nothing, simply stroking up and down Corvo’s back and slowly calming him down. 

Daud can feel Corvo’s gentle heartbeat, his warmth, how solid and firm his body is, and he closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation. He doesn’t mind staying there as long as it takes for Corvo to feel alright again. 

And many minutes later, Corvo finally pulls away. 

He flashes Daud a small smile, one that Daud can’t help but return as well. 

Daud’s been forgiven. 

He’s been forgiven by _Corvo_ , and it feels as if so much distance between them have been crossed in a matter of minutes, now there’s nothing between them or holding them back. For years they have tangled, navigating through the treacherous maze of each other, trying not to get stabbed in the process, and today they finally meet in the middle, ready to start something new. Something better. 

The breath that he has held in for so many years is finally let out. 

It feels so unbelievably _good_.

“Let’s go back.” Corvo says, still smiling, as he turns towards the direction of the inn. He too looks as if a heavy weight for lifted off his chest. 

Daud is about to nod when suddenly an idea comes to mind. 

He used to do this all the time with Billie out on the rooftops, a few times with Thomas as well. It was a brief distraction, something to brighten up their gloomy days in Dunwall, and Daud admittedly misses it. He’s not sure if Corvo will want to do it, but surely he’ll appreciate the change in mood. 

Daud feels light, energised, so unbelievably _free_ and he just can’t help himself anymore. He turns to Corvo, the slightest grin on his face. 

“Race you.” 

Corvo looks back briefly in surprise, and then a playful smile comes, as does a challenging glint to his eyes. 

“Last one to reach buys the other a drink.” Daud huffs. He’s never lost a race before, and he doesn’t plan to. 

Corvo smiles again. Both their marks flare, and they are off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was reading up on constellations, and when I saw that there was a _Corvus constellation_...well...I couldn't help myself. ;) 
> 
> Also, who do you think won the race at the end? 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading. This fic is pretty long, it has taken months to get here (even my writing has changed throughout the chapters) and I'm so grateful to everyone who stuck through it all from the beginning up till now. Your support means so much to me! Soon you'll get to see how it all ends and I hope that you'll enjoy it when it does. :)


	22. Barking Nonsense

It is early in the morning when Kent wakes, stumbling down the stairs with his eyes half-closed, still drowsy and tired. He had been up nearly all night yesterday studying after all, and he lets out a yawn, causing his jaw to pop. 

Nearing the second floor, there is a sudden loud crash downstairs (from somewhere in the kitchen). Kent startles hard, eyes flying open. 

A loud “fuck!” follows next, and a growl of annoyance, the sounds echoing in the stairway. 

_Daud?_

Kent frowns, quickly making his way to the kitchen two steps at a time. What in the Void is he doing so early in the morning? 

There is another crash, something that sounds too much like the clattering of plates and bowls, and Kent’s stomach sinks in horror. 

Oh by the Void, _please_ let him not be doing what Kent thinks he’s doing. 

“Good morning Kent.” Daud greets when Kent appears, strategically positioning himself in the doorway and blocking Kent’s view of the kitchen. 

Kent narrows his eyes. _Surely not…_

“Daud, what are you doing?” His tone is all exaggerated patience, and the man clad in red blinks at him. 

“Nothing.” 

Kent nearly rolls his eyes. 

“Oh, what was that really loud crash just now then?” 

Daud just gives him a blank look and shrugs. To his credit, he does look very convincing, but Kent just folds his arms. 

“…The really loud crash that sounded suspiciously like a plate shattering? The one that was followed by a single profanity I rather not say out loud?” 

Daud continues to stare at him, and Kent lets out a sigh. 

He’s not playing this game again. He may hardly use his magic, but that doesn’t mean he _can’t_. In a single transversal and an irritated grunt from Daud, Kent enters the kitchen. 

Once again, he has to stop, and sigh. 

The word ‘mess’ probably isn’t enough to describe the kind of havoc Daud has unleashed in the kitchen. 

It looks as if a tornado just swept through the place. There are forks and spoons strewn across the counters and floor, and one too many bowls and plates all over, covered with some slimy lumpy residue that is the absolute furthest from anything remotely edible. A large pan on one of the counters - recently removed from the fire - is still smoking hot, some kind of bizarre sludge lining the surface, bubbling, also the absolute furthest from anything remotely edible. And _finally_ , in the small corner by the fire, there it is: the broken remains of a plate, shards of various shapes and sizes.

Something snaps in Kent. 

“DAUD! We’ve talked about this!!” Kent shrills. “What happened to the past _six_ times you agreed not to do this?!” 

Daud gives Kent the straightest face Kent has ever seen coming from him. 

“…The plate fell.” 

“I can _see_ that!! Why-” Kent has to let out a sigh of frustration. 

Stupid, annoying, stubborn, proud! Does anything go through his thick skull?! Of all the habits he could've picked up, he chose _cooking_ , the one thing he's utterly hopeless at. 

Kent is about to launch into a well-deserved reprimand (for the seventh time) when a new voice cuts the air, soft and velvet. 

“What’s happening?” 

Kent turns around, his frustration fading temporarily as he turns to face the new presence, taking his last few steps down. 

“Oh, Corvo. Good morning.” 

Kent didn’t expect him to be awake so early. 

“What happened?” 

Corvo stops in his tracks at the doorway, stares at the huge mess – no, _chaos_ \- in the kitchen, and turns to look at Kent. 

“…Did a tank of whale oil explode here?” 

“No.” Kent snaps, glowering at Daud. “But _somebody_ was cooking.” 

“You mean _trying_ to?” Corvo helpfully quips. 

Daud instantly jerks up and glares at Corvo, who basically ignores him. 

Corvo takes a few careful steps into the kitchen, staring hard at the puddles of questionable slime decorating the floor. A spoon is picked up from the floor – from the other twenty or so scattered around – and poked at the lumpy muck, coating the spoon in sticky goo. 

Now Kent’s very tempted to box up a sample of the substance and ship it off to the Academy of Natural Philosophy, because he’s most certainly sure that whatever Daud has created must be a new element of some kind. 

A glob of the substance plops back to the ground in an unsightly splat, and Corvo looks up at Kent, giving the same expression that is probably gracing Kent’s face right now. Bizarre incredulity (minus the anger). 

Just _how_ does Daud keep doing this? How is it that the man can constantly outdo himself and create something more disgusting than the last? Shouldn’t people improve the more they try?!

“This isn’t the first time something like this happened!” Kent grumbles to Corvo, now purely aggravated. “He keeps doing this!” 

Corvo stares, eyebrow raised, and Kent just continues. 

“Once I let him help me bake a cake, and he put salt instead of sugar into the batter! Do you know what kind of atrocity came out from the oven that day?! Even rats refused to eat it!! _Rats!_ ”

“Kent-” Daud lowers his tone dangerously, but Kent is way too pissed off to give a damn. 

“And then there was the time when he tried to cook porridge for himself-”

“Don’t you fucking dare-” 

“- _Porridge._ Something so idiotically simple even a blind man with one arm could make it."

"Shut up Kent." 

"What did Daud do?" Corvo questions, more curious than anything.

"The stupid genius _burnt_ it!!” Kent wrings his hands out in frustration. “Who _burns_ porridge?! I didn’t even know porridge was capable of being _burnt_ , much less turning as black as coal!” 

There is a long stunned silence as it sinks in. 

“You didn’t hear anything.” Daud barks out, still glaring at Corvo with a gaze that could probably melt metal (or burn porridge). 

“The part when you switched salt and sugar or the part when you burnt porridge?” Corvo asks innocently. He’s not smiling, but Kent can clearly detect amusement in his voice. Who knew the Royal Protector could be this coy? 

Daud’s eye twitches, and Corvo continues. 

“Oh, you also owe me a drink.” 

And Daud slams his fist on the counter, making the stacks of plates at the edge of the counter clatter dangerously. 

“I don’t owe you anything!” Daud growls. “You _fucking_ cheated!!” 

“You didn’t set the rules.” Corvo shrugs dismissively. 

“You fuc-”

But Kent doesn’t want to hear any of it right now. He’ll probably be curious later, but at this point in time, all he wants to do is to stuff Daud into a pot and cook him until he’s all burnt (like porridge). 

“What were you cook- what were you _trying_ to cook?” Kent does his best to keep his tone civil. 

A silence. 

“…Nothing.” Daud looks aside.

Kent just gives up. He’s too hungry and irritated to care, he just wants breakfast, and coffee - which Daud was _supposed_ to be making. 

Kent passes by Daud and starts to wash the absurd amount of dirty dishes, cringing as he wipes away the weird slimy substance coating it. Daud starts to clear the broken shards, and Corvo comes by to help with the mess. (Kent told him it’s alright, but the man simply said that he would like to help.) 

By the time the kitchen returns to some semblance of order, it is way past breakfast time. 

Kent quickly prepares some simple toast for the whalers, while Daud makes the coffee (Corvo has been pulled out of the kitchen by Ralph and the other children to play in the backyard). 

After he’s had some food and a good cup of coffee, Kent’s mostly calm, starting to wash the last set of dirty dishes. He turns to Daud, who is sipping coffee in the corner of the kitchen. 

“So…” Kent starts, and Daud’s coffee cup pauses halfway to his mouth. “What exactly were you trying to make?” 

Daud pauses for a few seconds. 

“…Pancakes.” He finally admits. 

“With meat? Cheese? Or-”

“Oranges. Orange sauce.” Daud mumbles. 

Kent blinks, soapy sponge pausing over a plate. Oranges? Orange _sauce?_ Doesn’t Daud usually despise sweet things? 

But Daud nods, and Kent can only sigh in response. The man can’t even cook porridge right and he wants to cook _pancakes_ , pancakes with _orange sauce_. 

Kent resumes washing the dishes, and Daud continues drinking his coffee. 

When Kent’s finally done, wiping the water off his hands, he can finally look up at Daud without wanting to smack him. 

“I’ll make it for you tonight.” Kent pauses. “If you want anything next time, just tell me. Please. Don’t…wreck the kitchen. I’ve already told you this _six times_ but plates are in limited supply here, as is my patience. I’m _not_ cleaning up after you again.” 

Daud nods again, mumbling something that sounds like ‘fine’, which is the exact same response he’s given the past six times Kent had this chat with him (the past six times that didn’t end up being the _last_ one). 

Why can’t Daud just admit to himself that maybe, _maybe_ he isn’t cut out for cooking? 

Kent sighs and goes out of the kitchen. Ralph is waiting for him on the couch, smiling, and Kent quickly gets his things and heads off to the clinic. He’ll be there a little later than usual, but that can’t be helped. 

The day continues on.

It’s a peaceful day today, Kent doesn’t have many patients to see, and he spends his time talking to Ralph – who excitably tells him all he’s talked about with Corvo. 

The cat didn’t follow him to the clinic this time, she’s probably at home enjoying some quality time with Corvo, something Daud won’t be happy seeing, the thought of which makes Kent smile. Daud absolutely deserves some misery especially after what happened this morning in the kitchen. 

Cooking _pancakes_. Kent snorts. Adrielle is going to have a good laugh when he tells her about this the next time they meet. 

Her face comes to mind, her bright blue eyes, and Kent’s face warms. 

Things have never been better between them ever since the whole escapade with the Leviathan Children and discovering her past history as a witch. 

Kent had expected himself to be angry at her for keeping secrets from him, but he wasn’t, not really. He didn’t tell Adrielle about his past as a whaler either, working for the infamous Knife of Dunwall. It would have been hypocritical of him to be angry. 

In fact, he felt more relieved than hurt, because now he no longer needed to hide his past from her. Both of their secrets were out, Kent accepted Adrielle and her past, and Adrielle accepted him too. What should have broken their trust of each other ended up strengthening it, and their relationship is now the best it has ever been. 

The next Kent will be seeing her is in two days time, and he’s already looking forward to it. Adrielle always knows how to make him smile. 

“You’re thinking about Adrielle again, aren’t you?” Ralph suddenly asks. 

The dreamy smile he knows is on his face vanishes instantly. Kent quickly shakes his head, even though his cheeks continue to heat up. 

“No. I’m not.” 

“Master Daud is right. You _are_ a bad liar.” Ralph sniggers, and Kent whacks him on the head with a rolled up newspaper. Ralph just laughs, and returns back to his book.

Time passes very quickly. 

Soon, beams of orange light start to shine in through the glass panels in the clinic, signalling the end of the day, and Kent spies the clock at the table, watching the clock hands move, bit by bit. 

Almost time to go home. 

He starts to pack up his things; Ralph does the same. The pens go back into boxes, his leather book goes into a drawer, and Kent looks at the clock once more. 

The longer hand finally reaches the top. Kent smiles, stretching a bit as he stands up, and goes over to the door. His fingers reach out, and then- 

The door smashes back into his forehead with a loud knock. 

Kent grimaces, biting back a colourful string of profanities. The door halts halfway diagonally out, and Kent rubs at his head, hissing. 

“Kent, are you alright?!” 

Kent waves aside Ralph when the boy comes by. He opens his eyes, faint irritation disappearing when he recognises the man wedged between the door. 

Corvo is standing at the doorway draped in a beige coat, brown eyes a deep yellow in the fading light. 

“I’m sorry. Are you alright?” Corvo apologises, and Kent once again waves it off. 

Kent makes space for Corvo to step in and he does, closing the door behind him while Ralph watches on curiously. 

“What’s wrong? Did you get…” Kent trails off as he follows Corvo’s gaze, focused on something huddled in his arms, a small squirming bundle of…something covered in a thick towel. 

Kent blinks a few times. 

This is all so stupidly familiar, and he watches Corvo bring the bundle in, gently setting it down on the table and easing the towel off. 

Primarily white and going grey near its stout, this animal is slightly larger than the cat, tongue flopping out in quick pants, pale pink surrounded by rows of serrated teeth. 

It’s a wolfhound, clearly. Young, unusually small, the mutt of the litter perhaps. Patches of blood mat its fur, and Kent notices numerous cuts and wounds all over its body and paws, probably inflicted by a blunt object of some kind. He frowns. 

“I’m not a veterinarian.” Kent finds himself saying. 

Corvo snorts. He’s clearly remembering the very first time they met years ago. 

“I know, but he’s hurt.” He huffs. 

Oh, so this little hound is a ‘he’. 

“Where did you find him?” Ralph asks, peeking over at the small trembling animal. The hound startles, tensing, and Ralph starts cooing to calm him down. 

“There were people pelting rocks at him.” Corvo says as he rests a hand on the hound’s head sympathetically. 

“You’re hurt too!” Ralph suddenly exclaims, and Kent shoots up. 

Corvo pulls his hand aside - not before Kent notices the patch of blood - and shakes his head. 

“It’s fine, nothing serious. He just got scared and bit me. He needs treatment first.” 

Suddenly the rows of sharp teeth peeking out look very dangerous. Kent withdraws his hand, a little hesitant. 

“Don’t worry. He’s mostly calmed down now.” Corvo reassures, and Kent gently lifts up a paw, still wary. 

The hound is watchful, but he doesn’t snap, just remains where he is, and lets out a short whine when Kent presses a gloved finger to the edge of a wound. 

Kent quickly scans the hound’s body for wounds, and his heart starts to twinge painfully. Who would do such a thing to him? 

Kent pulls out some fresh bandages, antiseptic, and then he remembers Ralph, still standing at the corner, quiet. 

“Ralph, why don’t you wash Corvo’s wound? I’ll take a look at it later.” 

Ralph nods, dragging Corvo towards the sink. The man allows Ralph to slowly pull away his soaked sleeve and reveal the bite wound, teeth marks puncturing through skin and forming small divots of blood. 

Kent starts cleaning up the wounds, washing away the blood as best he can and dressing each gash. The hound remains limp throughout it all, watching Kent do his work, and when he’s finally done, the hound turns its head towards Corvo, ears perking up. 

Corvo smiles, gently pets the hound. Once his hand touches fur, the hound reaches out to lick Corvo’s wound, wiping off a trail of blood as its tongue laps over the open wound. Corvo blinks in surprise, but allows the hound to go over the wound a few times before withdrawing. 

Kent pulls on a fresh pair of gloves. 

“Let me see it.” Kent gestures for Corvo to come over. 

The man complies, and waits patiently as Kent washes the wound again, applies antiseptic, and then bandages everything up. 

Corvo wraps the hound back in the towel, gently carrying him up to his chest. The hound snuggles in, closing his eyes, and Ralph grins at that. 

“He’s so cute.” He looks up at Kent with a pleading look. “Can we keep him?” 

Kent stops to consider it. 

“…Daud’s not going to be happy.” 

“But he never is!” 

Kent chuckles. He can’t argue with that.

\----------

Daud is indeed not happy to see his new guest, wrapped up in towels, nose poking out and sniffing the air curiously.

“What the fuck is that?” He asks suspiciously, already not liking where everything is going. 

“It’s a hound.” Ralph gleefully states. 

“I know that.” He snaps. “ _Why_ is it here?” 

“He’s our new friend!” 

Daud shakes his head immediately, declaring, 

“I’m not allowing it.” 

Ralph’s face falls.

“Why?!” 

“Because I said so.” 

“But he’s hurt!” 

Daud ignores that, and asks, 

“Where did you find it?” 

“I didn’t find him, Master Corvo did!” 

Daud pauses, and looks at the man in question with a strange sort of resignation, like he already expected it.

“Of course it had to be _you_.” Daud groans out loud.

“The hound was hurt.” Corvo shrugs. Both Ralph and Kent nod in agreement, and Daud narrows his eyes at all of them. 

“I don’t care. The mutt’s not staying.” 

“But he’s hurt! Look!” Ralph gestures to the hound. 

Daud looks, scowls further. 

“Master Corvo said people were hurting him, throwing rocks at him!” 

Daud scans the hound’s body again, covered in bandages. He starts to waver, just a little, and after a long minute, he sighs. 

“Fine. _Fine_. The mutt can stay, but only until it recovers. Once it does, it goes _out_. Is that clear?” 

Ralph sulks at him. 

“Is that clear?” 

“Yes.” Ralph mumbles. 

With that, Ralph and Corvo bring the hound upstairs to give him a much needed shower, leaving Kent alone with Daud downstairs. 

Once the two disappear, Daud glares at Kent. 

“Stop being an enabler.” He snaps. 

Years ago, Kent would have shrunken away under Daud’s molten gaze, but today, he looks right back at him. He shrugs nonchalantly, saying, 

“I was just doing my job as a physician. He was hurt.” 

Daud narrows his eyes. 

“You’re just mad because of this morning, aren’t you?” 

A pause. 

“…No.” 

“You know you’re a terrible liar right?” 

Kent continues to stare right back into him, smirking a little. 

“At least I don’t have to lie about being able to make _porridge_.” 

A very unkind insult is thrown at him, and a book comes flying in his direction.

\----------

After a shower and a change of bandages, the layer of dried-up mud and grime on the hound has been washed away, revealing a scrawny creature with big beady eyes. He is mostly white, with a patch of grey at his left paw (which Ralph declares is his cutest feature) and Kent would be lying if he said he didn’t find that stupid face and pink tongue downright endearing.

Dinnertime comes, the whalers start to stream into the inn, coming home from a long day at work, and they all delight upon seeing the hound (especially Zachary, who befriends the hound near instantly, much to Kent’s surprise). 

The hound is a little skittish, jumping at the smallest sound, he withdraws when Kent tries to pet him, but he has never attempted to bite anyone yet. The whalers thankfully have enough sense to notice the hound’s nervousness, they don’t try to approach him and noticeably lower their volume when speaking so as not to scare the poor animal. The only one the hound will let close so far is Corvo, which Kent supposes is to be expected, and they leave the hound alone in the corner of the room. 

Once everyone is seated at the table eating, Ralph finally asks the question on everyone’s mind. 

“Can we keep him?” 

Everyone turns to Daud, who frowns.

“No.” He says, before adding, “the other fur mat won’t allow it.” 

Everyone then turns to look at the cat, crawling down the last few steps on the stairs and staring at the hound cautiously from the distance. Then Kent suddenly remembers that the cat was badly injured by a hound once, the exact injury that had Corvo bring the cat to him in the first place. He bites his lip. Daud _does_ have a point, she might not like the hound.

The black feline continues to stare at the hound, sniffing the air, and she slowly patters over, paws silent against the ground as everyone waits for her to cast the judgement. 

Kent looks over at Corvo, who doesn’t seem the slightest bit worried, and back at the cat. 

Her tail is flicking from side to side, considering, and then she turns to look at Daud, acutely aware that everyone is watching her. She seems to sense something in Daud, and then determinedly goes forth with a meow, touching the hound and rubbing her face affectionately against the hound’s head, who nuzzles right back. 

Daud gapes at that. 

“Fucking traitor.” 

“Don’t curse.” Kent chastises, just as Feodor slumps over in the corner of his eye, shaking in obvious laughter. 

“I’ll donate its skin to the Royal Conservatory. _Both_ their skins.” 

And Feodor finally bursts out laughing, earning a glare from Daud. 

“The cat is an excellent judge of character. She just loves anything Daud hates. And hates anything Daud loves.” Feodor snickers, nudging Devon insistently. 

“Apart from Master Corvo!” Ralph chirps from the other end of the table. 

“I don’t love him.” Daud immediately snaps, the response a heartbeat faster than normal. Corvo looks up, Kent raises an eyebrow. 

“But this means we get to keep the hound right? Since the cat approves?” Ralph grins. 

Daud scowls. 

“ _No!_ ”

There is a unanimous ‘awh’ from the table. 

The discussion ends there and dinner is over soon enough. Kent heads back into the kitchen to make the pancakes he’d promised Daud earlier, while his brothers sit outside enjoying some whiskey, playing cards together. 

Kent cracks a few eggs and starts mixing up the batter for pancakes, whisking everything together. He cuts up the oranges (recently bought before coming home), and goes to take some sugar. The pan is heated up, and batches of pancakes are quickly churned out, flipped over with a deft flick of his hand.

He grabs a couple of plates and spoons two pancakes in each, folded to quarters. The orange sauce is made and poured over the pancakes, and then, the finishing touch: chunks of fresh orange garnishing the top, glistening in the syrupy sauce. Kent takes a step back to admire his creation – that actually looks edible as opposed to Daud’s earlier attempt in the day.

His brothers delight upon getting the dessert, all digging in with fervour. He gets a plate for Corvo as well, who smiles and thanks him, eating. 

Daud however, the man who requested the dish in the first place, is sitting on the couch frowning, poking the pancakes with his fork, unenthused. 

Does it taste weird? Kent takes a bite from his plate and chews for a while. No, it tastes fine to him. 

Daud continues to prod the pancake, sauce dripping off the edges, and Kent finally approaches him. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Daud looks up briefly. 

“It’s sweet.” 

“I- What? Didn’t you want this?”

Daud mumbles something Kent can’t hear, and then starts to eat, biting into the pancake with clear reluctance. 

Kent sighs internally at that. 

This man is just so hard to satisfy, isn’t he? He goes to sit down with Feodor and Devon instead, both bickering about something while Corvo sits at the side, eating. 

Corvo smiles at him when he comes by, Kent smiles back. 

“It’s good.” He says, pointing to the pancakes with his fork. 

“Thank you.” 

“I haven’t had this in decades. Last I had it was the night before I left for Dunwall.” There is a certain nostalgic look in Corvo’s eyes as he says it. “It was my favourite thing to eat then. I missed it.”

Kent blinks. 

“I can make it again for you tomorrow.” 

Corvo brightens up at that, he thanks Kent once more before continuing to eat.

\----------

When Kent wakes up the next day, drowsy and staggering to the kitchen as usual, he – thankfully – doesn’t hear any plates breaking.

He does however, hear two voices coming from the kitchen, one much louder than the other. 

He can’t make out the exact words, but he recognises the tone in the voices. It’s Daud and Corvo, both talking to each other without a trace of animosity between them. 

The two used to completely ignore each other’s presence when in the same room. This is surprising, but not at all unwelcome. It’s taken them so long to get here, and Kent can’t help but smile. It seems that both of them have made peace with each other, themselves too as well, and Kent is nothing but happy for them both. 

“Good morning.” Kent greets, yawning halfway through as he walks into the kitchen. 

Daud and Corvo greet him back, before falling into a silence (which makes Kent feel vaguely bad for having interrupted them). Daud starts to scoop out his coffee beans while Kent grabs his ingredients and starts chopping everything, tossing it all into a pot. Corvo watches them both from a corner, leaning against one of the kitchen counters. 

And a piercing meow breaks the silence in the air. Kent jerks up to see the cat sauntering in, looking up expectantly at Corvo and Kent. Just a second later, a different head peeks out from the doorway, white, ears perked up. 

“One was bad enough.” Daud feels the need to say. Both Kent and Corvo ignore him. 

Corvo goes over to pet the cat and the hound timidly watches, until Corvo beckons him over to give him a good petting as well. 

The hound’s tail starts to wag. Kent grins at the sight, while Daud grumbles off his daily threat of having the animal (animal _s_ now) skinned and cooked. 

Corvo’s petting continues for a minute longer and the cat starts to get jealous, prodding Corvo’s hand insistently and meowing. Corvo just smiles, indulging them both. 

Kent watches, and Daud lets out a long sigh. 

“Just because you have an incurable tendency to pick up small, injured furry animals doesn’t mean I have to house said animals.” Daud snaps. “I don’t operate a _zoo_ , Corvo.” 

There is a pause. 

“…I don’t have that tendency.” Corvo says, even as both of his hands are stroking down each animal’s back, fingers weaving through fur. 

Daud just shoots him a look, and there is another pause. 

“It’s _only_ been two.” Corvo defends. “Well…Three actually.” 

Now it’s Kent’s turn to stare at Corvo. Three? 

“Three is still more than zer- wait, _three?_ ” 

“Cat and two hounds.” Corvo states, as a-matter-of-factly. 

“Two hounds?” Daud questions. “You have a hound in Dunwall?” 

“No, all in Serkonos. In this inn.” 

Daud looks befuddled, as does Kent. 

“Both have a penchant for growling and snapping all the time.”

Still confusion.

“Exceedingly grumpy too.”

Ah. 

_Ah._

Daud continues to look very confused, and Kent has to bite his lip hard to hide his smile. 

“…Have you looked in the mirror lately?” 

And realisation finally hits Daud. 

“Are you implying that I’m a _hound?_ ” He actually sounds more surprised than annoyed. Kent bites his lip harder to stifle a laugh. 

“Am I?” 

There is an exasperated sound, one that very much sounds like a growl. 

“You fucker.” 

A spoon is thrown in Corvo’s way, and the man catches it without even looking back.

Kent fights back a laugh once more, continuing to make breakfast. 

\----------

Ralph launches the second discussion regarding the ownership of the hound during breakfast. 

“Can we keep him, please?” 

Even hidden behind the coffee cup, Kent knows Daud is sighing. 

“How many times do I have to tell you no.” 

“Please?” 

“Repetition will not increase your chances of making me agree. My answer is still no.” 

“But why?!” 

“ _No_.” 

“Surely there’s a reason.” 

“Because it’s an ugly, fur-covered piece of shit.” Daud snaps. “Fur that drops _everywhere_.” 

“Your grumpiness is everywhere.” Corvo suddenly says offhandedly, and the whalers (and Kent) all snort at that, nodding agreeably. 

Daud glares at all of them, particularly Corvo, who only looks more amused. 

“Please?” Ralph continues to plead. 

“No, and that is final. Nothing will change my mind.” 

“Nothing?” Surprisingly, it is not Ralph but _Corvo_ who says that, with a surprising amount of challenge in his voice. Everyone turns to look at him, and back at Daud. 

“ _Nothing._ ” Daud reaffirms, narrowing his eyes. 

Corvo simply shrugs, and continues drinking his coffee.

The discussion ends there, the breakfast conversation switches to something else but Kent has the feeling this isn’t the last he’ll be hearing of this. Yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pancakes I'm referring to in this chapter are actually crepes. Oh, and the dish is loosely based on the Crepe Suzette. It typically has a flambeed sauce, but I modified it to make it simpler, so no flaming alcohol unfortunately. 
> 
> The whole tone of this chapter is so much different from the rest of the story, and I hope it didn't feel out of place or OOC. 
> 
> But thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it :)


	23. Burning Bright

When breakfast is over and the inn becomes empty once more, Daud settles into his favourite couch, bringing out a book to read.

But just before he can get into it properly, a shadow looms over, darkening the pages in the book. Daud doesn’t look up. 

“Those astronomy books you have.” Corvo starts. “Can I borrow them?” 

And Daud finally looks up, immediately stiffening. Corvo’s gaze up close is near unbearable, his hair is so brown, nearly red at certain angles, and Daud’s eyes immediately slide off. 

“Sure.” He finally replies after a few times of swallowing to unlock his throat. 

Corvo pulls away as Daud stands up. 

He goes upstairs into his room – Corvo follows, despite Daud telling him to stay outside. 

His room is very simple, not lavishly decorated like Devon’s or Feodor’s. There is nothing particularly eye-catching in the room, it has everything you would expect from a bedroom: a bed, a table, and a few drawers and cabinets to hold clothes. No paintings or decorations. The only thing slightly more notable, but not unusual, is the large bookshelf at the corner, filled to the brim with books. 

His own personal bookshelf. 

The books there are the most worn out ones out of all the books in the inn. Old favourites, gifts, those of sentimental value (like the book Billie gave him), those he rereads over and over – they are all stored here in his personal bookshelf, never to be touched by anyone except him. 

Daud looks through the shelves and pulls out the stack of astronomy books, about to hand them over to Corvo when he sees him staring at something. 

There’s a book open in Corvo’s hands, relatively new judging from the intact spine and white, crisp pages. 

The title of it: Serkonan Delicacies. 

Corvo looks confused – no, curious – and Daud leans over to peek at what exactly has caught his attention. The page he’s at is dog-eared, the title being…

_P-A-N-C-_

Something cold darts down his spine and Daud freezes, instantly snatching the book over and slamming it shut. He hastily tucks it back into the shelf. 

“Don’t touch my things.” 

And now Corvo looks up at him, still curious, eyes sharp. Daud suddenly feels very vulnerable, and he thrusts the stack of astronomy books out, all too eager to get Corvo’s attention away from whatever it has settled on. 

“Here.” 

“Thank you.” Corvo smiles, just a little, the sight of which makes a fluttery sensation trickle up his spine. 

There is a short pause. 

Daud waits for Corvo to leave the room but the man doesn’t, taking a step deeper into his room instead and looking around with that insufferable curiosity once more. 

Ever since that night that Corvo forgave him, the man’s attitude towards him had basically shifted completely. Instead of ignoring Daud like he’s usually content doing, he’s now going out of his way to acknowledge Daud’s presence at every given opportunity, usually with a dash of flippancy and playfulness he used to only see from Billie. 

It’s taken Daud a while to get over the shock at the change, but once he had, he accepted it all too easily. It’s a proof of progress between them, trust maybe, and Daud’s _thirsty_ for it. He’s starting to see so many different sides to Corvo he’s never seen before, his curiosity, his wit, and this playful nature that Daud has found to be purely addictive. 

“Enjoying your grand tour, Royal Protector?” 

Corvo gazes up.

“Looks like a kennel. Taking inspiration from the Overseers?” 

Daud narrows his eyes. 

This is yet another new game Corvo likes to play, mostly in private, teasing Daud as much as possible and deriving amusement from the way he gets Daud all fired up. 

(And honestly, Daud doesn’t really mind it…not that he’ll ever admit so.) 

But-

_Does he ever stop with the hound jokes?_

“Well I happen to like it.” Daud snaps back. 

“So you’re admitting it’s like a kennel? Or that you take inspiration from the Overseers?” 

Ah that fucker. 

“I’m not admitting anything.” 

“It has to be one of the two. Which is it?” 

“A third option. Kicking you out from the inn.” Daud snarls.

Predictably, his reaction only amuses Corvo, who smiles again. The man then gestures to the stack of the astronomy books. 

“Thanks for the books.” He says, before he just walks off, brushing past Daud for a bit as he makes his way out of the room. 

Daud watches him go, sighs, and then returns back downstairs to read. 

Surprisingly, Corvo joins him downstairs to read (he usually reads in his room), seating in a different couch, with two animals curled up below him, one white, one black. 

Daud doesn’t make a comment about it and settles in his own couch as well, bringing up his book – this one is about taxidermy – and starts to read. 

A comfortable silence comes, with the brief flipping of pages, and it is nearly hours later before the silence is broken, by Corvo. 

“I didn’t know there were so many constellations.” He begins. 

Daud flips a page, not looking up. 

“I didn’t too. Once.” 

“It’s nice. Beautiful.” Corvo says. 

Another flip. 

“They’re just stars. Rocks in the sky. Mapped out in make-believe patterns.” Daud shrugs in response, even though the words feel thick on his tongue. Why is he even lying? 

“I suppose…” There is a hint of disappointment in Corvo’s voice, which makes Daud look up. 

Corvo’s not looking at him, but the expression on his face is soft, longing. 

Something tightens within Daud at that, a reaction he’s gotten used to within the past few days every time Corvo does the slightest things, a smile, a shift in his eyebrow, a certain shine in his eyes. It’s as if Corvo’s stolen some part of Daud’s free will, and everything he does or feel have started to affect _Daud_. He reacts to every minute thing Corvo does now, and it’s starting to be infuriating. 

Being forgiven by Corvo has led to another set of inexplicable changes in him it seems. Like it solidified something, or made clear something…Daud can’t put it to words. 

But Daud is starting to understand. 

He’s starting to realise that whatever he’s feeling towards Corvo is more than gratitude, respect, and even admiration. It’s grown into something deeper, personal, more _selfish_ , something that has moulded together with his instinct, making him feel and do things he’s never experienced before. 

Like a wild fire, it blazes inside him, unable to be contained or extinguished. It hurts but heals, illogical, simple and complex, bright and dark, contradictions at every corner, it is a mystery by every right, something that can’t be controlled, something Daud should want to reject and toss aside, except he _can’t_. 

He knows it’s a dangerous game he’s playing, but he can’t seem to want to let this feeling go either. 

And it _burns_ its way up to his head, until it finally becomes too much.

“…I know a place.” Daud carefully begins, eyes focused on his book. 

“A place?” 

“For…stargazing.” Daud still refuses to look up, knowing that Corvo’s eyes are on him, watchful. There are so many other sentences hidden behind that one line, some Daud doesn’t even know he’s trying to voice, but he knows Corvo can hear them all. 

A long silence passes, each second dragging on, and soon, Daud starts to regret having said anything in the first place. He shouldn’t have tried to feed that fire inside him, and it feels as if a cold bucket of ice has just been poured over him, a dreadfully unpleasant sensation that shoots down all the way to his toes.

“That’ll be nice.” Corvo finally replies, very quietly.

His fire leaps back to life. 

Daud swallows, tries to at least. 

“Tonight?” 

Corvo nods.

\----------

Corvo is the first to appear on the rooftop at night, mark flashing, and Daud goes out to join him, taking two vials of Addermire solution just in case.

Daud beckons Corvo to follow as he takes off, mark flashing as he blinks from rooftop to rooftop.

It is a very cool night today, cloudless too, a perfect day for stargazing, and Daud leads Corvo out of the city, far past the outskirts. 

It takes nearly an hour to reach the place, secluded and tucked away in the series of hills lining the edge of the city, and Daud materialises from a blink to wait for Corvo to catch up, only a few seconds behind. 

Corvo appears beside him and peruses his surroundings. 

It’s a grass field, simple as that, a small piece of flattened land curving down into a steep slope that leads to the city, now mere squares and rectangles in the distance. It’s always so peaceful here. Quiet, with a cold night breeze cooling the fresh layer of sweat over Daud’s body. He inhales deeply, before releasing. 

And then Daud looks up. 

The moon stares back, a full moon today, surrounded by the usual entourage of stars, flickering, all carefully placed in special patterns that Daud now habitually seeks out whenever he looks up in the sky. 

It’s still as beautiful as it had been the first time Daud laid his eyes upon it when he came to Serkonos. 

Beauty had been such a trivial concept to him before back in Dunwall. Beauty earned no coin after all, it was temporary, fleeting, but now, he has come to understand and appreciate it. 

Colours mixing together in different hues and shades, blending with light to create something astounding. 

Like this. 

“It’s beautiful.” Corvo says. 

“…It is.” Daud agrees, still staring up at the wondrous display. 

There is a short chuckle, gone all too quickly. 

“You lied. You like the stars too.” 

Daud doesn’t care to deny it this time, eyes drifting past the whole landscape and watching the stars flicker with a life-like glow. 

When he finally tears his eyes away from the display, he summons a little magic to activate his void gaze, scanning the area. 

He’s been to this special grass field many times, if he’s bored, or simply wants to enjoy some solitude away from the bustling city of Karnaca. 

So of course…he’s made a little stash here, hidden somewhere behind one of the many rocks protruding out from the ground. Filled with drinks, food, a lamp, sometimes books, he comes by to refill his little stash once every few days. 

It should be somewhere-

Daud continues to scans the area, eventually coming across the tell-tale glow in the ground. 

-There. 

He walks over and pushes aside one of the loose rocks, pulling up a small crate hidden behind and wrestling it open. 

Fresh bottles of whiskey stick out, untouched, of his favourite brand. Daud ignores them for the moment, rummaging through the crate to pick out a lamp. He lights it, passing it over to Corvo who places it on the ground, and then Daud finally turns his attention to the whiskey. He pulls one out, considers it for a moment before taking out another bottle. 

Corvo doesn’t comment on the fact that Daud actually keeps a stash of drinks just lying around randomly, but what he _does_ say is: 

“Is that the drink you owed me?” 

That playful tone that turns Corvo’s voice into a flute melody is back, the same tone that makes Daud’s senses light up and tingle. 

“…Take it before I change my mind.” 

Corvo does take it, and Daud adds more softly, “fucking asshole”. Corvo obviously hears it but says nothing, even though Daud can sense that he’s smiling. 

Daud snaps the cap off the bottle, gulps a mouthful. The whiskey is slightly chilled by the cold air, and it runs down his throat smoothly, pooling in his stomach where a small buzzing warmth comes from the burn of alcohol. 

Drinking at night is always so nice. 

Corvo on the other hand, seems to have a bit of trouble uncapping the whiskey, hands slipping off the cap. Daud wordlessly goes over to help him, brushing aside Corvo’s fumbling hand to grab the bottle when Corvo’s hand suddenly twitches, withdrawing. 

What?

Daud blinks at that, suddenly noticing how Corvo tucks his hand away, letting it go limp by his side. It’s not a very noticeable action, but Daud has seen his whalers do that all too often back in Dunwall. He knows exactly what that means. 

“You’re hurt.” Daud blatantly states. 

Corvo stills at that, looking up briefly. 

Daud grabs hold of Corvo’s wrist and gently unrolls the sleeve down, revealing a layer of bandages around the forearm, near the elbow. Daud’s eyes widen. He _is_ hurt.

When did this happen? Why didn’t he notice it sooner?

“What happened?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“How did you get hurt?” 

“It’s nothing.” Corvo dismisses, trying to pull his arm back, which only makes Daud tighten his grip to hold him right there. 

“How did you get hurt?” Daud repeats, more firmly now. 

“…The hound bit me when I found him. He just got scared.” Corvo finally admits. “It’s not serious. He didn’t hurt anyone.” 

Something must flash across Daud’s face, now illuminated by the lamp. 

“It’s just small wound. It’ll heal.” Corvo adds, clearly picking up on the change in Daud’s mood. “It’s nothing.”

Daud’s fingers tighten fractionally around Corvo’s wrist.

As if that is _nothing_. 

“…Someday it won’t.” The harshness imbued in his own voice shocks even him.

“It was just an acc-”

“That isn’t the point.” 

“I’m fine.” Corvo repeats, clearly confused. “It’s just a small injury. Calm down.” 

“You’re always doing this, getting yourself hurt, trying to fulfil that stupid self-sacrificial complex of yours.” Daud shakes his head. “You can’t keep playing as punching bag forever.”

“I don’t-”

“Even punching bags have limits, and so do you. You’re not expendable, not immortal either. There are-” 

A breath.

“- _People_ …who care about you, your pain is _theirs_. When you get yourself hurt, whether on your account or on another’s, you’re hurting everyone who cares about you. Why can’t you realise that?” 

All of Daud’s emotions burst forth like water from a broken pipe as he ends with a near shout, and Corvo falls quiet, now watching Daud carefully. 

The way he looks at Daud, so astute, so… _knowing_ , Daud knows he can’t hide anything from him. Corvo can see through him as if he’s made of glass, and he can most certainly see that fire inside Daud burning its way up into his eyes, terribly obvious, exposed. 

Daud can’t meet his gaze. Doesn’t dare to. 

The silence drags. 

Corvo swallows once, twice, before finally opening his mouth. 

“And _you_ care for me?” It sounds like a question and a statement at the same time. 

_Yes, I care for your stupid ass._ Daud’s mind supplies dryly.

“…It would be a shame if you got killed.” He says instead, cooling his tone into a flat, stoic one.

Corvo continues studying him, thoughtful, and Daud quickly uncaps the whiskey and hands it back to him, who takes it after a second’s hesitation. 

Thankfully, Corvo decides to drop the subject, and they both start drinking their whiskey, falling into another silence. 

Daud gulps down a mouthful, letting the alcohol burn its way down his throat. 

He…really shouldn’t have done that. 

Corvo’s only forgiven him days ago, both of them are still getting used to the new dynamic between them. Their friendship is still very new, fragile, capable of _snapping_ , and Daud nearly ruined everything they’ve spent years building with what he did there. He shouldn’t have given the chance for Corvo to see that fire, he should have kept himself in control, hid everything better. 

What he’s feeling towards Corvo…it’s unwelcome, he knows. Forbidden. Repulsive, maybe (a very painful thought). Daud doesn’t want to complicate things between them, doesn’t want to pressure Corvo into anything either, he just wants to keep things friendly between them. 

This feeling is new to him, it’s something he’s never felt before, not this strongly at least. Daud used to think this feeling was a luxury, that it was in a different plane of existence from where he lived – which was down in the gutter, in a pool of blood and waste. 

But he’s wrong, clearly. 

He’s been feeling this for quite some time now; he has no idea when it first started, but it was gradual enough to escape his notice, and trying to deny that feeling was just another way Daud had been using to punish himself, he realises that now. 

Another mouthful of whiskey goes down. 

But why Corvo, why him out of everyone else? 

He’s a mystery, something Daud hates, like a fickle bird he’s trying to catch and cage for so long. Daud has spent years trying to uncover him. 

And try, Daud did. He tried every way imaginable to trap him, control him, break him apart to find out how he worked, but somewhere along the line, when that fire in Daud grew strong enough to influence his thoughts and actions, he just…stopped. 

Daud realised that he didn’t actually want to catch or cage Corvo. Daud never wanted to control him, he only wanted to _chase_ him. And even if he somehow managed to actually trap him, Daud would just set him free to restart the chase again. 

Corvo’s the one person that remained a mystery despite all of Daud’s efforts, he’s the only one that can actually manipulate Daud and challenge him. He’s always so unpredictable, having countless sides to him: kindness, selflessness, playfulness, curiosity, patience, even an aggravating amount of stubbornness, and it’s every reason why that fire in Daud burns so strongly for Corvo, solely for him. It’s because Corvo’s never boring, and for Daud who’s spent a lifetime knowing everything, predicting everything, _not knowing_ suddenly has a certain allure, lending him a rare kind of excitement that makes his heart pound. 

Being a mystery is part of who Corvo is, and Daud wants to see more of him. He wants to see all the different expressions he can make, and with all his heart…he wants to make Corvo _happy_. 

And the fire in Daud becomes scorching hot, melting him down like wax. His eyes, as if guided by an unknown force, are drawn up to Corvo. 

Corvo is barely illuminated under the lamp, Daud can’t see the colour of his eyes or the length of his hair, but his heart still races.

Daud’s eyes soften, feeling a very strong rush of warmth through him. 

Corvo drinks another mouthful of whiskey, and for whatever reason, he chooses that moment to twist back, meeting Daud’s gaze. 

It is too late to hide.

All of Daud’s muscles seize up. He instantly tries to force his eyes away, make his face _not_ give that stupidly transparent expression, but Corvo’s eyes are like magnets, holding Daud’s gaze there. 

That thoughtful look on Corvo returns and he tilts his head slightly to the side – Daud’s eyes snap to the small strand of Corvo’s fringe that sweeps to the side when he does that. 

“You…” 

Daud’s throat closes. _No, please, don’t. Don’t finish that sentence._ He begs in his head. 

Corvo considers it for a while more, then shakes his head.

“…Nevermind.” 

There is not a single bit of hate or disgust in his tone, it’s just neutral, Daud has no idea what to make of it. 

Corvo returns back to drinking his whiskey, and after a very long minute, so does Daud. 

When both the bottles are empty, Corvo drops another bomb. 

“I let Emily listen to your audiograph.” 

Daud feels his breath stop midway down his lungs. Wait, what? 

“Not all of it.” Corvo quickly adds. 

Daud doesn’t trust his voice now, he takes a good five seconds to think of a response. 

“…What did she think?” 

Corvo hums. 

“She said she can’t forgive you yet.” 

There is a small pang of disappointment, before rationality steps in. That’s to be expected. Emily doesn’t know Daud at all. Even if he had once saved her, it doesn’t erase the deed of killing her mother, Jessamine. 

“Does she know that…” _you come here, stay in the same place as me._

“I told her.” Corvo then snorts. “She wasn’t happy.” 

Daud can’t think of a reply. 

“But she did say she would like to meet you once before she makes any judgment. She’s a kind girl, like-” Corvo stops. 

_Like Jessamine._

Daud’s heart twists when he watches Corvo clutch the ring at his chest again. Corvo’s heart belongs to her, of course it does. 

“She can come here whenever she likes. The children will be delighted, especially Ralph.” 

“…Or you can come.” Corvo suggests. 

It’s Daud’s turn to snort.

“Pretty sure the Knife of Dunwall is banned in all Isles, most especially in Gristol.” 

“Then come as you, as _Daud_.” 

Daud blinks at the distinction, momentarily speechless. 

“You’re…not as bad a person as you think.” Corvo says, more quietly. “…I think she’ll like you.” 

“I…” Daud stops. “I’ll think about it.” 

Corvo nods. 

And with that done, Corvo plops down into the grass, lying down and propping his head up as he looks out into the stars. Daud follows suit. 

A silence comes, and then Corvo points out into the sky. 

“Wolf Major constellation.” Corvo names. 

Daud points at another. 

“Corvo constellation.” 

That earns a chuckle. 

“Lynx constellation.” 

“The Outsider constellation.” 

Corvo actually laughs at that one, the sound of which warms Daud’s insides. 

“I read about that one.” 

“The Overseers pretend that constellation doesn’t exist.” 

“Didn’t they name constellations after the seven strictures?” 

“They did, but nobody paid any attention to it.” 

“Rat constellation.” 

“Crux constellation.” 

“Wandering Gaze constellation.” 

Daud frowns, buts continues.

“Leviathan constellation.” 

“Lying Tongue constellation.” 

“Really? You’re just going to name them all? Fucking cheater.” 

“I’m not cheating.” Corvo says, clearly amused. 

And their game of naming constellations continues, only Daud wins this time.

\----------

The next day’s breakfast conversation starts with Ralph once again trying to persuade Daud to keep the hound, much to his exasperation.

Is it going to be like this every damn day until Daud decides to give in? 

“Can we please, _please_ keep him?” 

Daud has already made it very clearly that the number of ‘please’ he adds in one sentence does nothing to improve his chances of getting Daud to agree, but the boy does it anyway. 

“No.” 

“But he’s so sweet.” Ralph points to the hound wagging its tail at Corvo (who is training it to ‘sit’ with pieces of sausage). “Look!” 

“No.” 

“Please Master Daud!” 

Daud shoots the hound another look, happily munching on sausage. Its injuries are healing well, but it’s still timid towards strangers. It lets the whalers pet it on occasion, but otherwise, it prefers to be with its select few favourite people. 

…Not that Daud cares. 

Because he _doesn’t_. 

“No.” 

Ralph sulks yet again. 

“But Kent said you used to keep hounds.” 

Daud shoots Kent a glare, who looks away innocently. 

By the Void, that fucking enabler. He’s _definitely_ still pissed off about that breakfast incident. The stupid physician used to be insufferably loyal, he used to not talk at all, and Daud thinks he might have preferred it that way. 

“That was in the past. My answer is no. Stop asking.” Daud snaps. 

Ralph sulks, and eats the rest of his breakfast quietly. 

After breakfast, Corvo says, 

“You did keep hounds. Were they your family members?” 

Daud ignores the last part. 

“They were _guard hounds_. There’s a difference.” Daud says, before pausing. “How did you get past them anyway? I’m very certain those hounds were ordered to kill strangers on sight.” 

“They didn’t attack me.” Corvo shrugs. “They were very friendly to me.” 

Daud scowls at that. Curse the Royal Protector and his stupid attraction towards furry animals. 

“Of course they were.” 

Just then, the hound comes bounding over to Corvo, tail wagging, and Daud’s scowl deepens, moving aside to place more distance between them. 

“You should consider keeping this one.”

“No.” Daud snaps. “No fucking way.” 

Corvo only gives him a sly smile and says nothing more. 

Daud spends the rest of the morning reading, while Corvo continues training the hound. 

After lunch, when Daud goes up to his room to take a pen and paper, he’s appalled to find that the cat has somehow made it into his room, already claiming its territory with an ungodly amount of fur.

Did he forget to lock his room? 

But that is unimportant. What’s _important_ is that there is fur everywhere in his room – how does such a small thing shed so much anyway?! 

“Get out.” Daud snarls, glowering at the black mass. 

The cat has the audacity to just sit there impotently, staring up at Daud. 

“I said _out_.” 

The cat glares at him once, and finally gets back on its feet, sauntering out with its tail flicking from side to side. Daud glares at it all the way until it’s out of sight, just wishing he can put some bolts through its skull. 

He takes a look at his room next, especially the floor, which is now covered with strands of black fur…fucking everywhere. Daud grumbles for a bit and goes to take the broom to sweep all the offending fur away, all while entertaining the thought of collecting the fur in the box and suffocating the cat to death in it. 

When the room’s finally clean, Daud finally takes out what he came in for – a pen and paper, and heads back downstairs, making sure to check twice that he had locked the room. 

The next time he returns to the room is in the afternoon, and once again, the cat has made it in, beginning its usual conquest of covering everything Daud owns with fur. 

Daud narrows his eyes at that. He’s most certainly sure he locked the door this time. 

He chases the animal off once more with an excessive amount of shouting and threatening, and goes to take the broom. 

The third time he comes back to the room is night time, and his door is – yet again - magically unlocked, only this time, the cat has the nerve to nestle into his bed, into _his_ pillow, under _his_ blanket. 

“Fucking-” 

And Daud kicks the door close, practically storming his way back downstairs where Corvo is, seated in a couch and reading. 

Corvo doesn’t look up when Daud comes down.

“I know it’s you.” Daud growls.

The whalers and children all look up curiously. 

“I’m most positively sure I’m me too.”

Ralph snickers at that, Daud lets out a sound of exasperation. 

“ _Stop it_. I mean it.” 

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.” Corvo says smoothly, still not looking up. 

“Fucking asshole!” 

“Language!” Kent shouts from the kitchen, which makes Daud bristle. 

He stomps back upstairs with the broom to clean up, making sure to change his sheets and blanket. He is definitely banning Corvo from taking any coffee tomorrow…or the next few days.

\----------

The next day, Corvo ends up getting coffee anyway (a generous gift from Kent).

Daud has to sit through yet another round of Ralph trying to persuade him to keep the hound.

“Can we please, please, _please_ keep him?” 

The boy never learns, does he? 

“No.” Daud barely even gives him a look. 

“But he knows how to sit now.” 

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to the conversation.” 

Ralph ignores him and turns to the hound, lying down near the kitchen. 

“Sit!” 

The hound looks up, and _sits_.

The whalers all coo, like they’ve just witnessed the most incredible thing in the world, while Daud just rolls his eyes. 

“Wonderful. It has mastered the art of sitting.” He drones on sarcastically. “Now if it’ll just sit in the incinerato-” 

“No!” Ralph nearly yells, before falling silent, eating his breakfast at the table. 

That’s the end of that then, Daud determines, sipping his coffee, all while thinking of the different ways he can just…casually dump the hound outside. 

Breakfast ends, the whalers all head off to their jobs, and Daud goes upstairs to take a book down to read. 

He pauses in front of his room, opens the door, and…stops. 

A new layer of black fur has settled on the floor, leading up all the way to his bed – sheets of which had been newly changed.

And there, curled up on his pillow looking entirely pleased of what it has done lies the stupid cat, black and small and proud and irritating and-

Daud slams the door as hard as he can. 

He reaches the first floor in a matter of seconds and glowers at Corvo.

“FUCKING ASSHOLE!!” 

Corvo looks up, face set in a neutral expression, even though Daud can clearly see the amusement darting across his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Oh, Daud’s not having it. 

“Stop doing that!!” 

“Doing what?” 

“Fuck you!” 

“You’re very rude.” 

Daud disregards him. He’s not putting up with this anymore. 

“I swear, I _swear_ , if you let the cat into my room just _one_ more time, I will go to Dunwall and _burn_ your fucking office down!!” 

Corvo only looks even more amused. 

“I mean it!” Daud barks. 

There is a short silence, with both of them just staring at each other. 

“Alright.” Corvo shrugs.

Daud stops. Wait what? 

“Really?” Daud narrows his eyes. 

“Yes, I promise I won’t do it again.” 

“Truly?” 

“Yes.” Corvo nods, meeting Daud’s eyes. “I promise.” 

Daud keeps his glare on Corvo for a solid minute, before going back up to clean up and change the bedsheets once again.

\----------

The next time Daud goes up to his room, he sees white fur instead of black, and he instantly slams the door shut.

“CORVO!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to apologise in advance once again since the updates for the last few chapters are going to take much longer than usual. Life got busy and I don't have as much time to write as I would like to. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all your support and patience! I hope you will enjoy this chapter :D


	24. Blossoming

Corvo lets out a yawn when he wakes up the next day, stretching a little before sliding out from under the blanket. 

It is just slightly before dawn, still deathly quiet everywhere, and Corvo yawns again, blinking a few times to clear his vision. 

Over the years with the help of Daud’s bone charm, Corvo’s nightmares have slowly subsided, quietening to blank dreams that no longer have him waking up panting, body tingling with phantom pains all over. 

Corvo wakes up well-rested most of the time (whenever he can afford to rest), and he has since weaned himself off the bone charm, returning back to a life of relative normality where he need not rely on anything to fall asleep. 

The bone charm now lies hidden in Jessamine’s secret room behind the fireplace, as does Jessamine’s audiograph and whatever Corvo deems precious. 

Corvo used to treat the secret room as a sacred place, something he couldn’t touch or enter. It was the last bit of _Jessamine_ after all, something Burrows didn’t manage to destroy. The whiskey bottles, the glass cups, even the stack of letters they exchanged over decades - some open, some neatly stacked…everything she had touched, Corvo didn’t want to defile it. He wanted to preserve everything there, all last touched by Jessamine, the final remaining traces of her existence. 

They used to play chess together, and that very same chessboard – scratched up and worn from use - lay open on the table, jutting out just so very slightly from the table edge. 

Corvo always played black, Jessamine always played white, and the pieces on the chessboard were arranged in a checkmate, the black king piece toppled over. 

If Jessamine had still been around, Corvo would have laughed at the thought that the only way for Jessamine to win at chess was to play with herself, but now that she was _gone_ , he could not laugh at all. 

Corvo couldn’t enter the room for years without immediately choking up and fleeing, just unable to stand the thought of erasing the last bit of Jessamine away from the world. 

The first time he finally mustered the courage to do so had been a year ago when he returned back to Dunwall, memory of Daud’s reassuring squeeze at his shoulders still fresh in his mind. There had been dust everywhere in the secret room, the chessboard still standing precariously at the edge of the table as it had been for years. Everything still untouched. 

It took a few nights – when he could afford time very early in the morning, but he finally cleaned up the entire room, rid it completely of dust. 

He kept the chessboard and its pieces, and packed up all the letters back into their envelopes. He found the audiograph next, likely the last Jessamine ever recorded, and teared up at the sound of her voice when he played it for the first time. 

Precious memories, all of them. He would never throw them away. 

Corvo eventually made it into a habit, visiting the room whenever he needed time away from his work or simply desired some solitude. 

He would come into the room some early mornings, drinking whiskey, replaying that audiograph or cracking open some of the very old letters exchanged between them, smiling at his (and Jessamine’s) youthful coyness. 

And then one day, Emily found the stash of her old childhood drawings in Corvo’s desk (that Corvo swore he threw away years ago). 

Emily – now nearly an adult - demanded them burnt with an embarrassed flush on her face, and Corvo had immediately gathered them all and hid them away in Jessamine’s secret room to save them from his daughter’s wrath, shrugging innocently when Emily asked about them later (she’s still looking for them up till today). 

That had been the catalyst apparently, and after days of staring at the crumpled drawings limply propped up against the walls of the secret room, Corvo decided to get them framed. 

Another week or so, and he decided to get a hammer and some nails to hang them up properly. 

A box of Corvo’s favourite whiskey followed next. 

The old table was thrown out to make way for a new one. 

Then a collection of comfortable cushions (which he pilfered from the laundry room over a period of a few months). 

Books. 

Odd sentimental trinkets (like the bone charm). 

And then one particular day (Corvo doesn’t remember exactly when), _Daud’s_ audiograph was moved from Corvo’s drawers to a different drawer in Jessamine’s secret room, nestled beside Jessamine’s audiograph. 

Whenever Corvo takes a break in the room, popping open a bottle of whiskey or sitting down and relaxing, he likes to play one of the audiographs in the background. 

It helps, listening to Jessamine or Daud during a long, tiresome day in Dunwall. 

Jessamine’s voice is calming, whereas Daud’s rugged voice is – weirdly enough - rejuvenating. It’s odd to think that he derives comfort from the voice of Jessamine’s killer, but he does. 

There’s just something in his voice that never fails to give Corvo that small push he needs to carry on with a particularly exhausting day. 

Listening to it reminds him that there’s somebody across the ocean beyond Dunwall who will never let Emily come to harm if he can help it, somebody that Corvo finds he can trust (perhaps with his life), and it helps Corvo get through even the worst days in Dunwall, knowing that he’s not alone. 

Now thinking of the audiograph, the lines of Daud’s confession start to roll through Corvo’s mind, word by word, trying to mimic that rough, sand-like tone Daud speaks in. 

It’s a little disconcerting to know that he can very nearly recite the whole audiograph by heart.

Corvo yawns yet again and looks around. 

The first rays of light are already starting to shine through the windows, and Corvo gets up, making his bed and getting a fresh set of clothes. 

A glance to a floor and Corvo sees the hound curled up at the foot of the bed, head tucked into himself, ears flattened as he sleeps. 

Corvo smiles at that, briefly bends over to give him a quick stroke. 

Even though he closes his door every night, the hound or the cat always manages to sneak in while he’s asleep, curling up at the floor to sleep (the cat is braver, sometimes snuggling up right next to Corvo in the bed).

After he freshens up in the toilet, he heads downstairs as quietly as he can so as not to wake the other whalers (he knows Feodor gets especially grumpy when he’s woken up before the time when he’s supposed to be awake). 

Daud is already making coffee when Corvo makes his way into the kitchen. 

“Good morning.” 

Daud greets him back without turning around, and Corvo settles into his usual corner in the kitchen, leaning against the counter as he watches Daud scoop out the coffee beans. 

“I finished your astronomy books.” Corvo starts. 

“Hmph.” Is the only response Daud gives, digging into his bag of coffee beans with a scoop. 

“Can I borrow something else?” 

“It’s not like you ever ask before taking them.” Daud mutters, before adding. “Thieving asshole.” 

Corvo smiles. 

Most, if not all of Daud’s insults include ‘asshole’, or some other unoriginal profanity that automatically makes Kent yell ‘language!’ at him. 

“What a creative epithet.” 

Corvo waits for a reaction. 

None comes, and he continues. 

“…Guess you really can’t teach an old hound new tricks.” 

That finally earns Corvo a single glare, before silence, and Corvo’s smile widens. 

He knows it’s very childish, poking fun at Daud, but it is also something so ridiculously entertaining that Corvo sometimes just can’t help himself from wanting to instigate any kind of amusing response from Daud. 

The first time Corvo did it, it had been a complete accident. He’s usually a lot more watchful of what he does and say around Daud, but at that point, the words just came out before Corvo could think to hold it in and Daud had stood there frozen, stunned, before quickly regaining his composure and insulting Corvo in return. 

It was then did Corvo realise that he’s becoming a lot more comfortable with Daud than he expected, and being around the man no longer felt like stepping on eggshells as it did in the past.

How strange to think that forgiving Daud had just as much an impact on him as it did on Daud.

He would have never thought he would be able to consider Daud as an actual friend after what he did to ruin Corvo’s life, but he’s very slowly getting used to it. 

They still don’t usually talk much at all, but the silence between them is companionable, peaceful, and Corvo enjoys it. 

They are both quiet people by nature, and being quiet, they understand that silence doesn’t necessarily mean hostility. Corvo doesn’t need to constantly engage him in mindless conversation just to fill the silence like with other people, and Daud never needs to talk to him either. They can both just keep quiet and feel completely satisfied with each other’s company all the same. 

“What do you want to read?” Daud suddenly asks, and Corvo glances up. 

He gives it a thought, and then thinks about that book he saw in Daud’s room the other day. 

“…How about Serkonan Delicacies?” 

Corvo had only intended to tease him a little, but Daud instantly jerks backwards, a scoop of coffee beans spilling to the floor as he looks at Corvo, freshly alarmed. 

Their eyes meet for just a fraction of a second, before Daud turns aside immediately. 

“I…” 

Suddenly Daud looks lost, fingers clenching around air, refusing to meet Corvo’s eyes. 

The reaction instantly reminds Corvo of the very look Daud gave him that night at the grass field. Eyes a liquid silver, with a tint of pale orange under the lamp’s light, eyebrows slightly raised. Daud’s face always looked like a ball of tightly bunched up rubber bands, awfully tense, with a constant frown, but at that very second, Daud’s face looked soft, like a malleable ingot of gold.

Corvo knows that look very well. He knows what it _means_. He’s spent his whole youth being thrown that look at every corner, even more so when he became Royal Protector. He used to be very uncomfortable with the attention, thought it shallow at times, and the only person he allowed to give that look had been Jessamine, his lovely butterfly. 

…Now Daud is giving him that look. 

His throat goes dry. 

“Daud, I-”

“Good morning.” 

Both Daud and Corvo jump as Kent shuffles into the kitchen, yawning. 

“Good morning.” Daud hastily greets back.

Corvo greets Kent too, returning back to his counter to watch Kent make breakfast. 

The two don’t talk to each other at all until after breakfast (and after Ralph’s daily discussion of keeping the hound). 

“Do you want to pick out a book?” Daud asks, just as the last whaler in the room leaves for work, leaving the two of them alone at the first floor. 

Corvo nods, and follows Daud back upstairs to his room. 

There is no trace of any fur in the room, it’s remarkably clean, and Corvo spares a glance at the bookshelf, quickly scanning the titles. 

The book about Serkonan Delicacies is nowhere in sight. 

Corvo shrugs and browses through the rest of the books, finger running down the spines. 

Daud reads a huge variety of things it seems. He has things on astrology, history, natural philosophy, even a few books about art. Corvo pulls out a thick brown book – the most worn out book out of all – with the title, ‘Ports of Call’. 

It’s all frayed, some pages are close to falling out, a book clearly very well read by Daud. 

Corvo gently pulls it out and flips it open, under the watchful eyes of Daud, who seems very close to reaching out and snatching the book back.

Daud has dog-eared many pages, different ports in the world, in Morley, Tyvia, Serkonos, even Gristol. 

“…Billie gave me that book.” Daud suddenly admits, voice soft. 

Corvo nods at that, unable to offer a response. He flips through the book again, more carefully now, reading through an excerpt about Cullero, talking about tobacco and cigars. Another excerpt, this one talking about wine. And another, about silken textiles. 

There is a burst of longing within Corvo.

He had always wanted to go travelling one day, everywhere in the world, maybe even to Pandyssia, but his duties bound him to Dunwall, and he was never free to indulge in this dream of his.

Perhaps one day, when Emily was all grown up with her own Royal Protector – one that meets Corvo’s expectations of course – he’ll go travelling. He’ll go far up north to Tyvia, freezing cold and all, to Morley, eat their famed stews, and to Serkonos, to explore all the different cities Corvo had never been able to go to as a child.

“I always wanted to go to Cullero. Soak in the sun, smoke tobacco, and-”

“Drink wine.” Both of them say at the same time, and they look up at each other, surprised. 

Daud looks aside first, and Corvo returns his attention to the book, reading through another excerpt before closing the book. 

He doesn’t ask to borrow it – he knows it’s a book very precious to Daud. Corvo picks out something else instead, a book pulled out at random, something about fruits around the isles. 

“Can I borrow this?” 

Daud looks as if he wants to say something, but he nods eventually, waving Corvo out of the room. 

Corvo settles down to read in the couch downstairs, and about an hour later, Ralph bursts through the door, bringing some thick medical book to the table.

“Master Daud?” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I ask you some questions? Kent’s busy.” 

From the corner of his eye, Corvo sees Daud close his book (this one is about animal leather) and move to the table, pulling out a chair to sit down. 

Corvo hears another chair being dragged out as Ralph plops himself down. 

“What?” Daud asks. 

“What is this…” There is a rustling of pages. 

A low hum from Daud. 

“...A sphygmomanometer? It measures blood pressure.” 

There is a grimace from Ralph.

“But how does it even work?” 

Daud hums again, before launching into a lengthy explanation, interposed with short grunts of acknowledgement from Ralph. 

When Ralph finally gets it, he cheers in excitement, and Daud lets out a similar grunt of approval, a sound that makes Corvo smile behind his book. 

Seeing Daud be comfortable enough to teach again so many years after Billie’s betrayal is…nice.

Daud’s passionate about teaching, Corvo knows. He could always see that longing glow in Daud’s eyes whenever he taught Corvo during their nightly lessons, the same glow that would instantly get extinguished and be replaced with something dull and despairing. It was as if living each day, step by step, was pure torture on Daud’s soul, but when Corvo looks up at him now, Daud’s eyes are _bright_.

Daud’s finally managed to reignite his passion once again, and instead of teaching people to kill and hurt others like he did in the past, he’s found a much gentler way to exert his influence on the world. 

Corvo’s nothing but happy for him. 

“What are you looking at?” 

Daud’s voice breaks Corvo out from his thoughts, and Corvo refocuses his attention on Daud. 

“Nothing.” 

“You’ve been staring.” Daud presses, frowning. 

That suspicious, feigned annoyed expression makes Corvo – once again - smile behind the book. 

Whenever Daud gives that look, with that particular frown on his face, the urge to tease him and illicit some amusing response from him simply becomes too strong to resist.

“Your hair.” Corvo starts. 

“…What about my hair?” 

“It’s turning grey.” 

“What?” Daud looks stunned for a second. “No, it’s not.” 

“It is though.” 

“It. Is. _Not._ Are you fucking colour-blind?” 

There is a pause. 

“Not grey perhaps. White is probably more accurate than grey.” 

Daud just shoots a glare at Corvo. 

“…As white as the hound.” Corvo can’t help but add, and Daud instantly lets out a noise of frustration, while Ralph giggles at the side. 

“Fuck you!”

\----------

The book is a short read – half of it is just pencilled illustrations of fruits, and Corvo finishes it by evening, closing the book and putting it on the table.

Daud looks up briefly when Corvo does so, asking, 

“Do you want something else to read?” 

Corvo thinks about it for a while, before shaking his head. He doesn’t exactly feel like reading anymore. 

“What do you want to do then?” 

“You don’t have to keep me occupied all day, you know.” Corvo says, faintly amused. 

Daud gives him a long hard look, not offering a response.

The silence starts to drag on, and Corvo finally speaks. 

“We could play chess.” 

“…Chess?” 

Corvo nods. 

Daud considers it for a short while, before closing his own book and heading upstairs. 

He comes down a minute later with the chessboard and sets everything up on the table. 

Corvo takes black, Daud takes white, and the game starts. 

They play in silence, and halfway through the game, Daud suddenly opens his mouth. 

“I haven’t played chess in years.” 

“I’m the same.” 

The last he played chess had been with Jessamine, so many years ago. 

Jessamine wasn’t strictly a _bad_ player. She was good in fact, only Corvo was even better. Jessamine would always sulk pettily when she lost, refusing to play a second match. Sometimes, especially when she knew she was going to lose, she would disregard the game completely, shoving the chessboard and its pieces off the table with a deft swipe and a half-hearted smug “oops”, dragging Corvo into a kiss (Corvo liked to protest, but he never actually minded her doing it).

He misses playing chess. 

He misses Jessamine even more. 

Corvo’s fingers reach for Jessamine’s ring before he can help it, and when he finally loosens his fingers, he notices Daud’s eyes on him, thoughtful. 

“…You’re welcome to play whenever you want.” Daud says quietly, before adding, “I don’t mind.” 

Corvo meets Daud’s eyes, still trained on him. 

That faint silver glow Corvo remembers from that night while stargazing is there, barely skimming the surface of his eyes, so well-hidden and yet, so obvious to him. 

Corvo nods. 

The rest of the game proceeds in a sombre silence, with Corvo only half paying attention to the game. 

He’s very sure now that Daud has somehow developed _feelings_ for him, but Corvo has no idea what to think about it. 

It’s just…hard. 

Jessamine is still there, she will always be, and the loss of her has ripped a hole in Corvo’s soul, a hole that may never heal. 

Can he ever let somebody in again?

When he looks at Daud now, his past enemy, his friend, a person that understands him more intimately than most, sometimes he sees a spark of…something worth exploring. Something _warm_. 

Something not unlike what he saw in Jessamine when he first started to fall for her. 

…He just doesn’t know- 

“Checkmate.” Daud suddenly says as he moves a chess piece, snapping Corvo out from his inner turmoil.

Corvo gives the board a good look, and true enough, he’s lost. 

Corvo blinks and frowns.

The only time he ever lost to Jessamine had been on purpose, only because he wanted to see the radiant joy explode on her face after years of losing to Corvo.

And it did. Jessamine had been so happy about her victory and she didn’t stop taunting Corvo about it for _months_ , bringing it up occasionally even after Emily was born. 

Corvo never got the chance to tell her that he lost on purpose. 

…He wishes he did. 

_Jessamine_. 

He misses her. 

Daud doesn’t even look the slightest bit pleased that he’s won, and he starts to pack up the pieces, putting them back into the chessboard box and clasping it shut. 

There is a pause. 

Daud stands up and steps closer to Corvo, still seated down. They are just a few footsteps apart now. 

And then a hand reaches out to touch Corvo’s shoulder, squeezing. 

Corvo freezes.

The hand moves, slowly snaking down his back, leaving a warm trail down Corvo’s back, comforting. The hand on Corvo’s back tugs him forth ever so gently, and Daud leans in. 

Corvo doesn’t resist. He closes his eyes. 

The small hairs on Corvo’s face only barely brush against the cotton fibres of Daud’s clothes, wrapped taut around his chest when- 

Daud completely stops, withdrawing completely in an abrupt motion, the pressure and warmth of his hand vanishing from Corvo’s back. 

Corvo’s eyes flicker open.

“I-Sorry.” Daud apologises hastily, voice shaking just so slightly. 

There is a thick lump in Corvo’s throat. 

_He wouldn’t have minded._

“It’s alright.” The words feel sticky in Corvo’s mouth. 

And Daud quickly disappears with the chessboard back upstairs, leaving Corvo alone by himself in the room. 

Later after dinner, Corvo gets handed a plate of freshly-made pancakes dipped in orange sauce by Kent.

\----------

Corvo can’t sleep. He’s tossing and turning on his bed, a layer of sweat lacing his skin.

The bed feels too hot, the blanket too prickly, and the pillow too soft. 

Corvo sighs, turning to the side.

All he can think about when he closes his eyes is the memory of Daud’s hand brushing down his back, how warm it felt, how comforting it was to be touched like that without having to flinch away for fear of being hurt. 

It had felt… _nice_. 

The last person to touch him like that had been Jessamine, oh so many years ago. 

Corvo flips to the other side.

Jessamine. 

He loves her, even now, but it’s a different kind of love as before. Corvo’s love for her back then was lively, alive, a roaring fire within his heart that jumped to life whenever Jessamine was nearby. It had been intoxicating, having those sudden gushes of warmth rush down his body and re-energise him. It never mattered how exhausted he was, Jessamine’s smile alone was always enough to make him forget it all. 

They were an unbreakable pair, they burnt together, and now, Corvo burns _alone_. 

The fire is still there, just as bright as it had always been, only it never produced those same warm surges Corvo misses more than anything else. What used to make him the happiest person in the world now makes his heart ache with a strange mix of melancholy and gratefulness. Melancholic because he can never share another moment with his lovely butterfly ever again, and grateful because he still has those precious memories they shared together. 

Corvo can’t deny it. He’s unbelievably lonely without Jessamine, and he misses all the times that his body would come alive just by being around her, watching her, not necessarily touching her. 

Emily helps, of course. If she hadn’t been around, Corvo would have been _nothing_ , but Corvo loves Jessamine in a wholly different way than he loves Emily, and it just…isn’t the same. Nothing can replace Jessamine.

Then Daud suddenly comes to mind once more. The memory of him trying to comfort Corvo. 

What of Daud? Of what he’s offering?

Corvo sinks his head further into his pillow. 

He’s not exactly disgusted or repulsed by Daud, but…how did things even come to this? He’d never expected this to happen, not in a million years, definitely not. 

And then Corvo thinks wryly, he had never expected it to happen with Jessamine either. He tried everything imaginable to stop feeling whatever he was feeling and look where it got him. He should know better than anyone that feelings are uncontrollable, uninvited and terribly intrusive. They need no reason to stay, no reason to go either, they just do what they do regardless of however illogical it may be. It’s all so personal. Nobody _asks_ to feel things, people just _do_. 

He can’t blame Daud for his feelings, and it’s unkind to mock or tease him about it too. 

Corvo sighs. 

But what is he supposed to do now? 

Accept Daud’s feelings? Reject them? 

Corvo finds either damning. 

It’s just…so hard, the thought of opening himself up to another person again. 

Part of him says yes, _wants_ to in fact. He craves the comfort, the warmth, to be treated gently, things that were stolen away while in Coldridge, when everyone that touched him did so to hurt. But part of him says no, that he simply _can’t_. If he lets somebody in, he’s going to get hurt in the end. He let Jessamine in, and Jessamine died. Corvo would rather kill himself before he let that happen again. 

Corvo twists back, grimacing as he changes his position yet again. 

It’s no use, he just can’t fall asleep. 

He needs a distraction, some fresh air perhaps. Corvo shoves his blanket aside and carefully shuffles to the window, pushing it open fully. 

Chilly air starts to blow into his room in a gentle breeze, weaving through his hair and cooling his sticky skin, as if beckoning him. 

It’s so peaceful outside. 

Corvo casts a brief look back at his bed, before shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath, aiming a blink to the nearest rooftop.

His surroundings materialise and the cold hits him immediately, sending sharp tingles across his exposed skin. 

It feels _good_. Corvo clenches and unclenches his fist, taking deep breaths to soothe his mind while staring up at the moon. 

He initially thinks to just settle down on the highest rooftop he can find and just sit there, but as he makes his way from rooftop to rooftop, a place eventually comes to mind. Somewhere quiet, far out from the city, away from anybody, with the whole night sky to yourself. 

It’s perfect for what Corvo needs right now. 

Now with a concrete place in mind, off Corvo goes, blinking off into the distance in short bursts of blue, following the very same trail Daud led him through just a few nights ago when he took Corvo out stargazing. 

After about an hour, Corvo finally reaches the open grass field, and he summons some magic for dark vision, looking for that little stash he knows Daud keeps buried somewhere.

He comes across the yellow glow soon enough, and smiles, prying open the box and taking out a bottle of whiskey. 

He settles down on the grass field next, uncapping the whiskey bottle and gulping down a good mouthful. The whiskey is cold, delightful, and it burns its way down Corvo’s throat.

And before Corvo knows it, one bottle becomes two, and two becomes three. 

His wound on his forearm is stinging in protest when he snaps open the third bottle, but he pays little attention to it and raises the bottle, about to take a gulp when a faint rustle close by makes Corvo instantly tense up. 

He activates his dark vision. 

Somebody drops into view, of a familiar height and build, and Corvo relaxes, releasing his magic. 

“What are you doing here?” Daud asks, a few paces behind.

Corvo blinks. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” 

There is a short pause, before Daud mumbles, 

“You…weren’t in your room.”

Daud is carefully avoiding Corvo’s eyes when he says that.

A long minute passes before Daud steps closer, about to sit down beside Corvo when he stops, staring hard at Corvo. 

“...Did-” Daud stops abruptly. “Wait, did you take that from my stash?!” 

With the rim of the opened whiskey bottle touching his lips, Corvo shrugs. 

“You thief!” 

The edges of Corvo’s lips quirk up. 

“Public property.” 

“You-” Daud stomps over to his opened stash. “You took _three?!_ Unbelievable!” 

Corvo chuckles. He can’t make out Daud’s expression in the dark, but Corvo can already imagine him scowling, narrowing his eyes and trying to set Corvo on fire with his glare alone.

But Daud makes no move to take back the whiskey from Corvo. In fact, he takes a whiskey bottle for himself and snaps it open, drinking. 

Corvo is halfway through his bottle when he finally decides to break the silence. 

“…Jessamine would have liked this place.” Corvo says, his heart breaking a little. “She always loved stars.” 

Daud says nothing, still standing behind Corvo. 

“I wish I could’ve shown her this.” Corvo admits very softly. 

In any other situation, he would have never told Daud this, but Corvo’s just drank nearly three bottles of whiskey and his mind feels just loose enough for him to not care about hiding his vulnerabilities and keeping up that cool, composed front. 

There is the soft rustling of grass. 

Daud sits down behind Corvo, shifting himself closer experimentally, inch by inch. Corvo pays it no mind, and when Daud’s back first comes into contact with Corvo’s, he still doesn’t move away. 

Daud isn’t leaning his entire weight on Corvo, he’s cautious about it, taking great care to not make Corvo uncomfortable, and Corvo closes his eyes, enjoying the way Daud’s warmth permeates through his clothes and down his spine. 

Soon enough, the two are leaning fully against each other, backs pressed together. 

“You can talk about it if you want.” Daud says, and Corvo feels his voice vibrate through where their backs are connected. 

Corvo is quiet at first, until Daud’s fingers suddenly brush against Corvo’s hand, pressed into the grass.

Daud’s fingers are warm too. Who knew a hand that handled a knife with such skill could be so gentle? 

“…Jessamine liked flowers. We used to go for walks in the gardens when we had the time.” Corvo says. It feels good to tell somebody this, even if the person is Daud. “She liked roses, tulips, hibiscus - even though it was native to Pandyssia and could never be grown in Dunwall. Emily often asked to tag along, and Jessamine would always slap her hand away whenever she tried to pick a flower.” 

Daud’s fingers remain lightly pressed on the back of Corvo’s hand.

“What was her favourite?” 

“…Lavender.” _Because it was_ my _favourite_ , Corvo can’t seem to add, his throat closing up. 

Daud hums in response, his thumb skimming over Corvo’s knuckles. Corvo’s hands are rough, calloused, peppered with small scars all over, but Daud runs his thumb over Corvo’s skin as if touching silk. 

Corvo still doesn’t move away. 

“What about Emily?” Daud asks, before snorting. “I’m willing to bet on dandelions. Ralph brings back an endless supply of dandelion stalks when it’s in season no matter how many I toss into the fireplace.” 

Corvo smiles. 

“Don’t like it?” 

“It gets _everywhere_.”

Corvo laughs, despite the cold melancholy in his heart. 

“Just like your-”

“ _No_.” Daud tries to protest. 

“-grumpiness.” 

A sound of annoyance comes out from Daud. 

“You’re a fucking asshole, did you know that?” 

Corvo smirks. Daud always says that, but Corvo thinks he doesn’t actually mind being teased like that. In fact, Corvo might wager to say that Daud _likes_ it. 

And then he remembers Daud’s feelings for him.

Corvo’s smile fades, and the lump in his throat returns. 

He knows he can’t keep avoiding this. It isn’t easy to encroach on the subject, but he needs a straight answer from Daud once and for all. 

“What about you?” Corvo starts, keeping his tone as still as possible.

“…What of me?” Daud carefully enunciates, tensing up. 

“Are…” Corvo falters, before starting again. “Are you trying to court me?” 

The thumb still brushing across Corvo’s knuckles freezes, and Corvo briefly wonders what Daud’s response would be. A futile denial? A deliberate misunderstanding?

...What does he even _want_ Daud’s response to be? Does it even matter? 

There is a very long pause. 

“…If I have your permission to.” Daud admits very quietly.

Corvo blinks. 

Most people in the past never sought out Corvo’s permission to be courted. Most of them simply assumed he would be happy to get the attention, never bothering to ask how he actually felt. Only Jessamine and a few rare others actually did, the people that genuinely cared for him, and Daud – Corvo has found – is surprisingly one of them. 

But Corvo doesn’t have an answer for Daud. He has no idea if he will grow to care for Daud as much as he did for Jessamine, and he has no idea if he even has the capacity to do so anymore. It’s too early for him to say anything for certain. 

“I don’t expect an answer now, I’ll wait.” Daud adds quickly, his thumb coming back to life and tracing random patterns over the back of Corvo’s hand, as if trying to soothe the inner conflict within Corvo. “But if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.” 

After a few seconds, Corvo finally nods. That’s…fair, he supposes. 

And they both return back to looking at the stars, enjoying the cool silence in the air and each other’s company. 

Daud doesn’t let go of Corvo’s hand until they return back to the inn, and Corvo returns to bed feeling more relaxed than he has ever been since Jessamine’s death. 

He slips into a dreamless sleep easily.

\----------

The next morning when Corvo goes down into the kitchen, Daud is not around. He doesn’t come for breakfast either, which is truly odd since Kent had cooked porridge, and Corvo knows it’s Daud’s favourite.

Corvo tries not to pay it any mind, instead picking out a book from Daud’s endless collection and settling into the couch to read. 

It is a late afternoon that Daud finally returns, but before Corvo can ask where he had been, he leaves almost immediately, returning an hour later with a set of books tucked under his arm.

Corvo barely catches a glimpse of the title before Daud disappears back upstairs. 

_The Guide to-_

Corvo frowns. 

What is Daud doing now? 

He unfortunately doesn’t get his answer until the evening, when Ralph drags him out into the backyard excitedly, pointing at something in the corner. 

Corvo peers at it. There is a small rectangular pot at the edge, very inconspicuous, a new addition to the usually barren backyard, and Corvo goes to take a closer look at it. 

It’s a gardening pot, no doubt about that. The soil is new, freshly watered, and sticking out from the soil in meticulously arranged lines is- 

Corvo’s eyes widen. 

It’s _lavender_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm really sorry I haven't been replying to comments!! D: I've had a very busy month, so I haven't been able to find the time to sit down and properly reply to all your lovely comments! I promise to reply them all as soon as I can! 
> 
> But anyway, thank you so much for all your support and patience! <3 Reading all your comments over the past month really encouraged me to keep writing, and I'm so grateful for that :) It truly means so much to me. Thank you! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	25. All those Secrets

It doesn’t take very long for Daud to realise that Corvo likes the lavender plant.

Daud has seen the man go out to the backyard on more than one occasion to just stare at the little pot, a light smile gracing his face, with fingers gently brushing against the small buds of flowers. 

Planting those had been a good idea then, Daud decides, just as he watches Corvo return from his latest flower-visiting trip through the backyard door. 

Corvo’s holding a watering can, and Daud barely holds in a snort at that, eyes quickly flicking back to the pages of his book (on exotic meats). 

Corvo’s usually more subtle about the things he likes; it’s difficult to discern if he actually likes something or not, but Daud has learnt – over many years - to pick up the little signs in his eyes and posture that suggest so. Void knows when he unconsciously started to take notice of such things. 

Ever since the night Daud finally confessed – _half-confessed_ \- to Corvo, he had expected some sort of reaction from him.

Maybe Corvo would become more distant, withdrawn. Maybe he would have laughed and mocked Daud. Or maybe he would have immediately packed up and fled from Serkonos, disappearing from Daud’s life forever. 

In any case, Daud expected something to _change_. 

But nothing did. Corvo’s demeanour to him remained as it had always been. The man doesn’t show any signs of disgust or hatred, he’s just…neutral. Daud can’t tell if that’s a good or bad sign. 

Corvo needs _time_ , he still loves Jessamine with all his heart, Daud knows and accepts that (he could never ask Corvo to throw away that part of him), and Daud can barely imagine how hard it must be to try opening up to somebody else again after all he’s been through. 

Even if Daud gets rejected – something uneasy rises up at the thought – he tells himself that he’ll be content. Corvo’s already given him so much, Daud couldn’t possibly ask for anything else. 

But- 

Just the thought of having the privilege, the _honour_ of being the one to care for Corvo, make him smile, make him _happy_...it is something that Daud longs for more than anything else. 

Corvo has been plagued by too many bad memories, even his good ones have been tainted by the dark, and Daud – forget how inexperienced and inept he is at doing so - wants to give him fresh new ones to cherish and hold onto. 

And then a sound makes Daud look up from his book. 

The hound is a blur of white as it paws up all over Corvo, tail wagging frantically as it tries to lick every inch of skin on Corvo. Slobber is dribbling to the ground in a thick cascade, and a scowl immediately makes its way up Daud’s face as he thinks of the amount of work it’ll take to get rid of every trace of gooey saliva. 

_Utterly disgusting_. 

As if Corvo heard Daud’s very thought, the man looks up, meeting Daud’s gaze from across the room. 

The smile plastered on Corvo’s face slowly changes into a smirk, and a challenging glint flashes across his eyes. 

Daud’s eyes narrow, turning into a glare when Corvo’s smirk widens. 

“Whatever you’re thinking, _stop_.” Daud instantly snaps at him. 

Corvo – of course – only becomes even more amused. 

He returns to playing with the hound, loudly teaching the despicable animal how to fetch, and Daud resumes reading, flipping the pages with more conviction. 

He’s most definitely not letting that creature stay. He won’t let Corvo bully his way through this. This is _his_ inn, and he is allowed to decide who stays and who goes. This hound is no exception. 

But even as he thinks that, Daud’s eyes get drawn up, over the pages of his book and the old scratched up table in the centre, inching up across the room, past the hideous patch of white and up some more- 

The sight of Corvo’s soft smile as the hound assaults him with the next onslaught of licking is like a switch, making something inside Daud unfurl like a rare flower blossoming under the moonlight. Corvo starts to laugh, softly, and the sound, coupled by the sight of Corvo smiling, makes an intoxicating warmth sweep across Daud’s body. 

When had he ever come to care for Corvo this much? When did Corvo’s happiness suddenly become _his?_

Daud lets his eyes linger for a second more, and another, and another, until Corvo catches him looking and Daud has to duck away back behind his book, trying to mask the stupid expression that must be on his face right now. 

He knows it doesn’t work.

\----------

The morning passes quickly, and in the afternoon, Corvo finds himself alone in the inn, with only the cat and the hound to act as company.

Daud had left the inn shortly after lunch – without even telling Corvo where he was going – and Corvo has been left with nothing to do. Nothing to read, nobody to play chess with, and nobody to annoy. 

He’s _bored_ \- it suddenly strikes him – and Corvo blinks at the realisation. He’s so used to doing too much work all at once as the Royal Protector and unofficial Royal Spymaster that even boredom has become some sort of indulgence to him. 

It’s not a wholly unpleasant feeling, he decides, and Corvo sinks deeper into the couch, thoughts starting to wander. 

Where did Daud even go? He usually doesn’t even go out at all, especially if it’s this hot. He isn’t a very materialistic person either; Corvo has noticed that he hardly buys things, and the only logical reason he can think of is that Daud has gone to the bookshop to add to his ever-growing collection of books. But even so, he tends to head out only during rest days, in the morning, certainly not a hot, boiling afternoon like today. 

So where has he gone? 

Corvo ponders over it for a while more, but comes up with nothing new, and he watches the clock in the corner tick a full circle before finally getting up on his feet. 

Initially thinking of going back to his room to find something to do or even take a short nap, Corvo abandons all his ideas when he passes by Daud’s room.

Corvo stops and stares at the locked door for a moment, considering. 

He’s been inside a few times, but had never stayed long enough to take a good look at the room. 

And the more he stares, the more he starts to get curious as to what exactly Daud keeps in his room, and the more curious he gets, the more tempting it is to take the key (that Corvo had gotten duplicated) and go in. 

Corvo continues to stare at the door. 

Daud is out after all, and there’s no one to stop him from doing some light snooping, he rationalises. 

His lips quirk upwards slightly. 

It’s a chance Corvo finds hard to pass by. 

Quickly heading back to his room, he picks out the key from his bag, going back to Daud’s room. 

He briefly wonders why Daud hasn’t gotten the lock changed after so long – the man clearly knows that Corvo has a duplicate key – but Corvo just shrugs it off, and inserts the key into the keyhole. 

Corvo feels a prod at his calf right then, and he looks down. 

The cat is staring up expectantly at him, tail swishing back and forth as she stares at him and the door. Mischief is evident in her bright eyes. 

Corvo chuckles, and kneels down to pet her. 

“Not today.” He says while stroking her. The cat purrs at the attention, but leaves readily when Corvo gently pushes her aside. 

And Corvo turns his attention back to Daud’s room, opening the door fully. 

The first thing to hit him is the smell, a fresh papery scent with faint traces of ink, as if Corvo just entered a bookshop. 

He shuts the door behind him, breathing in deeply and letting the woody scent settle in his lungs before moving closer to examine Daud’s bookshelf. 

Once again, the book ‘Serkonan Delicacies’ is nowhere to be found.

Corvo frowns, glancing over at Daud’s table instead. 

A few books lie open on the table, but they are all books on _gardening_. 

It’s not what Corvo’s looking for. 

Corvo’s frown deepens. Where exactly has Daud hid the book? 

He checks Daud’s drawers, but doesn’t find anything apart from an old audiograph machine. 

Did Daud throw it away? 

Corvo sighs, closing the drawer. It gets jammed on a stray audiograph card, and Corvo is just about to tuck it back in when something catches his eye. 

His _name_ , on the audiograph card. 

Interest piqued, Corvo pulls it out. 

It looks like any ordinary audiograph card. The date recorded on it is way before the plague, when Emily was a mere toddler, perhaps two or three years old, and it’s unmistakeably his own handwriting. 

Why does Daud have this? 

He carefully digs up the audiograph machine he found earlier and slides the card in, pressing the play button. 

Static fills the room, before Corvo’s own voice rings out, but not of him talking like he expected, but singing.

_Singing_. 

Singing a traditional Serkonan song. 

Corvo’s face warms involuntarily, and he immediately smashes the stop button, grimacing out loud. 

What? How in the Void did Daud get this?! 

This was supposed to be- 

Corvo groans. 

Void. 

He remembers this audiograph. He had recorded it for _Emily_ , so many years ago. 

Emily had been a difficult child at the start, often crying throughout the night, unable to sleep. Jessamine did everything to soothe her, but Emily just wouldn’t be appeased, wailing even louder instead. 

It was usually up to Corvo to calm her down, often by talking to her, but most especially, by _singing_. 

Emily calmed down near instantly when Corvo sung to her, and Corvo would have gladly sung her to sleep everyday if not for his horrible workload and unpredictable working hours. 

To solve that, he recorded this audiograph for Jessamine to play if Emily was being… _difficult_. It made things so much easier, and Jessamine stopped losing sleep during the long nights. 

Gradually, as Emily grew up, she stopped having this problem, and the audiograph was discarded…or so he thought. 

Where did Daud get this?! 

Corvo immediately goes back to the same drawer to ransack it. 

There are other audiograph cards inside, and thankfully, all have Daud’s name on it, which means he only has this one audiograph card of Corvo’s. 

And then Corvo suddenly realises: the one with his singing had been right at the top of the stack, and it’s clearly the one most frequently played judging from the amount of scratches on it.

Corvo’s face becomes even hotter. 

He immediately thinks of the certain nights in Dunwall when he’s frayed and far too alert to go to sleep. He’d often sought refuge in his secret room, going through the audiograph cards to help him relax. 

More often than not, he found himself playing Daud’s audiograph. He had no idea why, Daud’s voice is rougher than most, almost like a rock against grinding against smooth metal, but somehow, Corvo found comfort in his voice. It helped him calm down and relax, and he could enjoy a short moment of peace away from his busy, hectic life. 

Just thinking that Daud does the same- 

Corvo’s face _burns_. 

He pulls out the audiograph card from the machine and tosses it back into the drawer, basically slamming it shut. 

He knew Daud cared for him, but- 

An odd concoction of emotions burst to life within him like an exploding grenade, too overwhelming to fully comprehend all at once. 

He didn’t know. He didn’t know that Daud- 

Corvo curses, trying to even his breath and compose himself.

He briefly considers burning the audiograph card, but dismisses the idea immediately when he thinks of somebody burning _Daud’s_ audiograph back in Dunwall. Corvo wouldn’t have liked that. This audiograph card is evidently precious to Daud, and who is Corvo to take that away? 

No, he can’t burn it, Corvo finally decides, and after a very long minute, he gets back up, resuming his search for Daud’s book. 

He still has no idea what to think.

\----------

There is a glaze of sweat over Daud’s skin, singed under the Serkonan sun.

Even the gravel beneath his feet feels scorching, like stepping on hot, burning pieces of coals, and Daud briefly wonders what in the Void made him want to come out from the inn on this very day with this hideous weather. 

He makes his way down the street, mentally cursing, and sidesteps to the left to avoid a couple – clearly drunk even though it’s barely past midday. 

He wipes the latest layer of sweat from his forehead, grimacing, and takes a left turn at the next crossroad. 

Another left, and he finally reaches his destination. 

A small shop tucked in the corner of the street, easily missed by most, with a flimsy faded wooden sign hung up at the top to show its name.

Daud approaches near, and the shopkeeper – a young lady – smiles. 

“Ah, good sir, you’re back again.” 

Daud nods in return, eyes scanning the rows of pots lining the shop, each nestling clusters of bright flowers. Some are dull, some vibrant, with petals of a myriad of shapes and colours. They look stunning put together in a shop like this, like treasure trove full of sparkling gemstones. 

“Are you back to purchase more?” 

Daud’s eyes flicker back to the young lady, watching her wipe some soil dust off her clothes. 

“I’m…considering it.” 

She doesn’t flinch at Daud’s rough tone. 

“Well, would you need any recommendations?” 

Daud blinks, before shaking his head. 

“…I’ll just take a look around.” 

The lady nods, and Daud turns his attention to the variety of flowers around him.

He immediately ignores the roses at the front (they remind him too much of Delilah), and goes to scrutinise the other plants offered. 

He rejects the first five he sees, the petals are too large, too vibrant, not what he’s looking for at all. He continues down the row, looking at every stalk, every leaf, every petal. 

Daud’s knowledge of flowers – like most things related to beauty – is very limited, he always considered them as weeds, worthless and temporary, eventually wilting away into nothingness. 

But perspective matters, as Corvo taught him, and as time passed, he started to grow a new appreciation for the things he once thought pointless. Stars, flowers, beauty. The world has so much to offer, and one day, Daud realised that he wanted to see them all. 

He can only recognise a few flowers – common ones like carnations, tulips and lilies – but he looks at every flower nonetheless, even the exotic ones imported from Pandyssia that are probably a nightmare to grow.

“Are you looking for a…gift, perhaps?” The lady suddenly breaks in after a few minutes. 

“I…” Daud pauses. “Something like that. And something that can be grown.” 

“Nothing catches your eye?” 

Daud takes a cursory glance around the whole shop, and shakes his head. They’re all too bright, too big. It’s not the right _fit_. 

“…I see.” The lady chews her lip, thoughtful for a second. “Hm, I think I know what you might like. Wait here for a moment.” 

The lady goes into the back of the shop, and comes back out after a minute holding a small pot. 

“How about this? It’s not as impressive or flashy as a rose, but I figure it might suit your taste.” 

Daud looks at it. 

The plant is moderately large, thick green leaves protruding out from the sides like sword blades, with a long stalk right in the centre. Small flowers of a pale lilac line the length of the stalk, a string of colour to brighten up the overall look of the plant. 

“…I’ll take it.” Daud declares after a full minute. 

The lady beams, as if she just won a lottery. 

“Of course.” She exclaims, about to get parchment paper to wrap up the plant. 

She then pauses. 

“Well, actually, if you don’t mind, I would like to add something extra to that too.” 

“I don’t-” 

“You don’t have to pay a thing. It’s free of charge.” The lady presses. 

“That’s unnecessary-”

“It’s free!” The lady waves his protests off, already going around the shop and grabbing seemingly random flower stalks. “Just treat it as…a gift.” 

Daud just sighs, and gives up.

\----------

The day for Kent passes rather quickly with Ralph by his side. He stitches a few wounds, treats a couple infections, and spends any down time listening to Ralph gushing non-stop about the hound (who he’s nicknamed affectionately as ‘Snowy’).

According to Ralph, ‘Snowy’ is a very bright hound, having learnt many new tricks within a few short days no thanks to Corvo. He’s currently learning how to fetch, and Ralph is already so excited to head back and play with the hound. 

When the sun starts to set, Kent and Ralph pack up, locking the door and throwing away the waste bag, and then starting the usual walk back home. 

Ralph’s energy is still not depleted even though it’s been such a long day, and he continues chattering throughout the whole journey back. 

“I wish Master Daud will allow Snowy to stay. I’m sure if he sees how cute he is, he’ll change his mind.” 

Kent nods in response. 

“I mean, Master Daud’s keeping _plants_ now, so a hound is basically no different, right?” 

Kent’s lips twist into a smile. 

Indeed, Daud has recently started a new hobby of gardening with that pot of lavender he brought back yesterday. It’s a hobby Kent is all too happy to encourage, and in fact, he’ll approve of anything else other than Daud’s insane habit of breaking plates and cutlery in the kitchen. He’ll let Daud grow plants and flowers in the backyard any day rather than stepping foot into the kitchen. 

How strange to think that there would a day that the Knife of Dunwall himself would put away the knife in favour of a shovel, exchanging a forceful touch for a gentle one tending to flowers instead. 

He’s changed so much over the years, and Kent’s heart swells at the thought. He would have never imagined this being possible just a few years ago, but right now, Kent can’t imagine Daud being any other person. 

And it wasn’t just Daud that changed too. 

Corvo has also changed a lot since the first time Kent met him. 

He remains a very gentle person, that would always remain a core part of Corvo’s personality, but back then, he always seemed so exhausted, like he was holding on to the last thread of life he had, devoid of any purpose. 

Corvo’s doing a lot better now, he smiles a lot more, laughs sometimes, and is generally more relaxed than Kent’s ever seen him be. He actually seems _happy_ , which is more than Kent could ever hope for him.

Both of them have changed so much, and it’s heart-warming to know that they only did so because of each other. 

It’s ironic in some ways, considering their uneasy history together. 

Jessamine was the catalyst, but they broke each other, tore each other to bits and pieces, and yet, they were also the reason that the other was put back together. Even without words, they supported each other and helped each other heal, until finally, they got past all that animosity and settled into a brand new relationship as friends. 

Except- 

Daud’s pancakes suddenly come to mind, and Kent bites his lip to smother a laugh. 

Daud’s interest in Corvo has always been very apparent, that isn’t new to anyone, but now _pancakes_ have also gotten involved. 

Daud, making _pancakes_. 

Wholly unexpected, and to Kent, that signals something very… _surprising_. He knows Daud well enough to notice when he’s acting out of the ordinary, and making pancakes is _definitely_ out of the ordinary. 

It didn’t take long for Kent to realise that Daud’s interest in Corvo just crossed a very delicate barrier, and when the thought first popped up in his mind, he’d scoffed and swept it aside, because it just seemed too ridiculous to even consider. 

But the thought was already there, and it remained in his mind like a pesky raccoon in the attic, unable to be removed. So Kent started to consider it, and the more he did, more of Daud’s actions – that Kent originally assumed were just another set of Daud’s unexplainable quirks - started to make _sense_. 

It had clicked immediately, and he realised he’d accidentally stumbled upon something he wasn’t meant to discover. 

He still keeps it a secret of course, Daud would probably flay him alive if he dared to tell anyone (especially Feodor), so Kent feigns ignorance, acting as the casual bystander in their little interactions. 

It’s been enlightening to watch, amusing sometimes, and frustrating other times, but so far, nothing has progressed. 

Daud’s still the one initiating everything, while Corvo remains passive, almost apathetic. 

He often wonders when Corvo will give a response, and what it might be. Surely the man _knows_ that Daud is trying to cour-

“Kent!” Ralph suddenly tugs on his shirt, jolting Kent from his thoughts. 

“What?” 

“Isn’t that Master Daud?” 

Ralph points to the street junction in the distance. 

There’s only two people walking down that street, and true enough, the one in front is a man of a similar stature to Daud, with an unmistakeable scar running down his face. 

There is a bright patch of colour near his arm, and Kent squints. Why is he- 

“Is he carrying _flowers..?_ ” Ralph cocks his head to the side. 

Yes, those are indeed flowers. But why is he carrying a bouquet of-

Oh. 

_Oh._

Kent can’t fight back the laugh this time, and he bursts out giggling like a child, bending over and clutching his stomach to try stop the uncontrollable spasms of his stomach. 

“He’s carrying flowers!” Ralph continues to exclaim, over and over, and Kent’s only response is to laugh even harder. 

“I want to see. Let’s go!” 

Kent doesn’t stop Ralph from dragging him down the street and towards Daud, who’s long noticed them from far away. 

He’s carrying a pot of flowers in one arm and the bouquet in the other, fixing a scowl at them both. 

“Master Daud! Are those flo-”

“I didn’t _buy_ them.” Daud snaps immediately. 

“…But you’re carrying them.” 

“I didn’t buy them.” Daud repeats. “The shopkeeper gave them to me, _insisted_ I take it off her hands rather.” 

Kent struggles to calm down and keep a straight face, but he knows that it’s hardly working from the way Daud openly glares at him, daring him to say something. 

Ralph goes to examine the flowers, and then he gasps. 

“The flowers are so _purple!_ They’re so pretty!” 

Daud doesn’t say a thing, standing there with the same scowl on his face, and Kent curiously glances down at the bouquet. 

It’s certainly a very purple bouquet, with dashes of pink and blue at the sides and in the center. An odd choice of colour, but they blend together nicely enough that Kent can’t complain. The florist clearly knows her work well. 

And he looks even closer, trying to determine exactly what kind of flowers there are. 

He recognises lavender of course, bellflower, and…gladiolus? 

Gladiolus? Kent hardly sees them here in Serkonos, they aren’t the popular variety, but he recognises the distinct shape of the leaves and flowers, jutting out like spikes in the bouquet. 

He alternates his gaze between the bellflower, the gladiolus, and the lavender, and has to fight very _very_ hard to keep a straight face. 

That sneaky florist…

He knows exactly what does flowers mean, and judging from Daud’s impassive face, the man is absolutely _clueless_. 

There is a pause. 

“…They’re uh…pretty.” Kent starts, as an idea starts to form in his mind.

Daud raises an eyebrow.

“…I suppose.” 

“Are you going to give them away?” 

“Why? You want them?” 

“Wh- No. _No_. I don’t.” Kent quickly says, before cooling his expression into a neutral one. 

Ralph looks between them curiously.

“…Maybe you could give them to Corvo.” Kent continues, saying each syllable very carefully. 

“What.” 

Kent shrugs, doing his best to appear dismissive. 

“Well he seems to like these kind of things.” 

“Hm.” Is Daud’s only response before he starts walking again, clearly eager to put an end to the conversation and get back to the inn.

Kent allows himself precisely one second of gleeful smiling before falling into step behind Daud.

\----------

When Daud first opens the inn door, he is greeted by a waft of something baked, like he’d just stepped into the bakery.

He sniffs the air, puzzled. None of the whalers apart from Kent bake, so the only person Daud would deem responsible for this smell is- 

And Corvo steps out of the kitchen, a light layer of flour covering his arm. He’s faintly smiling, about to say something snarky perhaps, but everything instantly vanishes when his eyes fall on the bouquet of flowers Daud’s still carrying. 

Corvo stares at the flowers for a moment, and then completely freezes, making a long silence befall upon them. 

Daud swallows, somehow completely forgetting about Kent and Ralph behind him. 

His heart starts to race at an alarming rate, and somehow, looking up at Corvo becomes nearly impossible. Why does he suddenly feel so suffocated? 

But before he can change his mind, he thrusts out the bouquet, deliberately avoiding Corvo’s gaze. 

“Here.” Daud’s throat feels so sticky, and the words almost refuse to come out.

Corvo is still speechless. 

“The shopkeeper gave them to me for free. You can have them if you like.” Daud quickly explains. 

It takes a few seconds for Corvo to break out from his frozen state, blinking a few times. 

“Really?” 

“Yes. Take them.” 

“I- Uhm…Thank you.” 

It is rare to hear Corvo stumble over his words, and that flustered reaction somehow gives Daud enough courage to peek up. 

Corvo’s smiling, just barely, and his head is tilted downwards. His fringe falls over his face like a veil, covering his eyes, but it does nothing to hide the fact that his face is a few degrees redder than usual. 

Daud feels the air thicken around him as Corvo reaches out to accept the bouquet, his flour-covered fingers brushing against Daud’s for a split second. 

His fingers are so warm. 

Corvo thanks him once more, and then ducks away to go upstairs. Daud goes to put his new pot of flowers in the backyard. 

When Corvo comes back down from his room, his face has returned back to its usual shade. 

Daud asks him, 

“What are you making?” 

“It’s a surprise.” Corvo replies smoothly and retreats back into the kitchen, mixing and stirring things together with a certain skill that makes Daud vaguely jealous. 

Well, whatever he’s making, it smells _nice_. 

And Daud suddenly spots an open book on the kitchen counter, one that looks all too familiar with its rugged cover and dog-eared pages. He doesn’t even need to go closer to confirm what it is. 

_Serkonan Delicacies_. 

His mind splutters to a stop, and a cold chill goes down his spine. When and how did Corvo find it?? 

Daud thought he had hidden it very well, away from all prying eyes. 

But in all honesty, it’s probably his own fault that Corvo managed to get it. He just _knew_ he should have gotten that damned lock changed. In fact, he should have done it from the very first time he knew that Corvo had snuck into his room. 

All that effort hiding the book for nothing now, Daud mentally curses. 

Corvo’s still mixing, eyes concentrating on the bowl, and Daud shuffles over to the counter as unobtrusively as he can to take a look at which recipe Corvo’s using when- 

The book gets slammed shut by a flour-covered hand. 

“No peeking.”

Daud scowls. 

What is Corvo making? 

He _hates_ a mystery. 

Corvo just shoots him a knowing smirk. 

Daud doesn’t even get to stay in the kitchen to watch after that, Kent chases him out with a stern warning not to touch anything, and Daud grumbles a few curse words, going to the couch to read a book instead.

Gone were the days when the whalers would listen to his every word. Now he can’t even step into his own kitchen without Kent yelling at him to get out. 

Daud can hardly concentrate on his book with that burning mystery in mind, and it takes a long painful hour or so for Corvo to finally finish making whatever he had been trying to make.

When he comes out with a full tray of baked goods, all the whalers coo in amazement. 

Daud recognises the dessert. 

It’s _eclairs_ , recently made popular after Duke Theodanis declared it his favourite dessert in a public interview. 

Daud had no idea Corvo could bake, and bake _well_ too. The éclair looks good, a crisp shell pastry with cream oozing out from the sides, topped with a shining glaze of cocoa icing, and the whalers start to help themselves to it. 

“It’s delicious.” Kent says, after taking a bite. 

Corvo smiles at him and nods. 

Daud just stares at it, watching the pile slowly decrease in size. Just looking at the icing and the cream makes him feel vaguely nauseous, and judging from the way Feodor gobbles it down one after another, it’s probably extremely sweet too. 

But still…it was _Corvo_ who made it, and even though Daud knows he won’t like the éclair, he still wants to try one. 

And so he reaches out, fingers just about to take one.

“That’s not for you.” Corvo suddenly says, surprisingly firm. 

It’s just a single line, barely even a sentence, and it shouldn’t affect Daud the way it does, but he very nearly flinches, withdrawing his hand without a question. 

What? Why? 

Daud’s throat closes, and confusion sets in.

He watches, quite dumbfounded, as the whalers continue to deplete the pile. Corvo doesn’t disallow anyone else to take the éclair. 

Why is it just him? 

What did he do? Did he offend Corvo somehow? Was it the flowers? He should have known those flowers were too much. Why did he even listen to Kent? But Corvo didn’t seem strictly offended to receive them. He seemed…neutral, like he always does. 

So what _did_ he do? 

Daud tries to quell all those insufferable thoughts, but they continue erupting up, quickly consuming his mind and turning it into a jumbled mess. He picks up his book, trying to focus on reading instead, but all the words on the page are blending together, and nothing makes sense. 

The whalers are gushing about the eclairs, about Corvo’s surprising talent at baking, while all Daud can feel is a growing tightness in his chest that almost _hurts_. 

What did he do wrong? 

Was it because of his…confession the other night..? Is this a sign that Corvo doesn’t want- 

Daud turns ice-cold immediately. 

Suddenly, the mindless chatter around him becomes too much to bear, and Daud closes his book to go upstairs into the safety of his room, struggling to recollect his thoughts.

The tightness in his chest just simply refuses to go away. 

This is absolutely ridiculous. He knows he’s overreacting. He _knows_ he’s acting like a Void damned child. What happened is something small, something insignificant. He’s a grown man, and he should just brush it aside because it doesn’t mean a thing, it _doesn’t matter_ , and- 

Everything hits him like a slap in the face.

No, Daud’s wrong. 

He’s grown too complacent over the year, thought himself actually deserving of something _more_ when he should have known better. He should know his place by now. 

All the experiences that had shaped him into who he was, who he is, he’s thrown them aside once again in favour for this…foolishness. 

How many times must he learn? 

From the very beginning, when his own mother raised her hand on him and taught young Daud the true meaning of _hate_ , to getting abducted by a faceless man with rough hands who laughed at Daud’s tears, and then to be brutally trained by another faceless man, being beaten and punished if he didn’t perform up to expectations, even Billie…

He’s been broken from the start. Somehow, somewhere, the world deemed it necessary for him to be hurt by everyone else, and as revenge, he had hurt everyone else back in return, but that ultimately got him nowhere except down a never-ending spiral of guilt and pain. 

He's just so unlike Corvo. Daud hasn’t the faintest idea of what it’s like to be touched by somebody and not feel pain, or what it feels like to actually be cared for, and he’s still struggling to understand the concept of family and friendship. 

Meanwhile, Corvo’s bright, shining, radiant, so well-loved by all (and Daud is everything but). What can Daud even offer him that others cannot? Corvo deserves so much more, Daud desperately tries to reason with himself, trying anything to help ease that tightness in his chest. 

Corvo has taught him so much, given him so much. He’s good, pure, honourable, and Daud can fool himself all he wants, but deep down, he knows that Corvo is on a different plane of existence from the one Daud belongs in. 

Actually courting him, what is Daud even thinking? Having the audacity to do so, he must seem like a complete, hopeless _fool_. 

Daud sighs. 

It’s just –

He’s never felt like this for anyone before, this all-consuming want - _need_ \- to see to their well-being, make them happy. Corvo is the first person he feels such overwhelming admiration for, devotion even, and somewhere deep inside Daud, he had wanted this to work. He wanted…something more, something to prove that maybe change _is_ possible, that somehow, he isn’t as broken as he thinks he is. 

He wanted to be proven _wrong_ , but in the end, the cruelty in the world Daud has long learnt to expect once again emerged victorious, perpetuating that cycle of lonesome existence that he wants so desperately to break out of. 

Corvo may have taught him hope, and Daud can hope all he wants, but even hope cannot fix what is already broken. Nothing can fix him, and he doesn’t deserve anything better than this after all he’s done to the world. 

It’s more than enough to have Corvo as a _friend_. 

Daud loses track of time as he spends the minutes - or perhaps hours – moping in that familiar dark corner of his mind, and he’s very nearly regained his composure when a knock on the door interrupts him. 

It’s probably Kent, or maybe Thomas, to come check on him, because he doesn’t usually retire to his room this early, and he’s just about to let loose a sarcastic remark when he sees _Corvo_ instead, brown hair and even softer brown eyes, standing sideways and leaning against the doorway. 

Daud freezes, and whatever semblance of composure he has built breaks away. 

“Are you alright?” Corvo asks, and it’s so easy to think that there’s _concern_ in his voice, but Daud knows it can’t be. 

“I’m fine. Just-” Daud takes a breath. “-tired.” 

“Oh.”

A short silence follows, before Corvo stands back upright. 

And that’s when Daud realises that he’s holding something in his hand, previously hidden behind the doorway. 

It comes into view, and Daud’s throat tightens, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. 

It’s a plate. 

More accurately, it’s a plate with a tall stack of glistening eclairs, noticeably different from the ones Daud had seen just now. These particular eclairs have a darker cream and an even darker icing on top, almost black. 

It’s as if his mind got frozen into solid ice, and no thought can even pierce through. Daud’s voice is completely stuck, all he can do is stare wide-eyed at the plate, at the eclairs. 

“…What?” He chokes out after a long, bewildered moment. 

Corvo’s eyes are trained on him, no doubt analysing his every reaction. 

“They’re for you.” 

“…What?” He dumbly repeats. 

Corvo pushes the plate over, and Daud’s hands automatically reach out to take it, but his mind remains jammed. 

“They’re eclairs.” Corvo explains patiently, before continuing when he realises Daud isn’t responding. “I put a lot less sugar into these ones. And the cream is coffee cream.” 

Daud’s eyes lock with Corvo’s at that, still so very confused. 

How, why, no…what..? 

He thought-

… _What?_

Corvo made this specially for _him?_

“I-” Daud gets submerged in a pool of intoxicating warmth, and he finally feels his throat unlock. “…Thank you.” 

He can’t remember the last time somebody had given him a gift. It had been too long ago, and none were even close to being as…thoughtful as this. 

Corvo smiles, and if he notices that Daud’s eyes are redder than usual, he makes no comment of it.

Pleasant tingles are riding down Daud’s body, as if his skin itself is _singing_ , and as he stares at the plate, already so precious, he gets choked up once again. 

Corvo starts to turn, about to walk off. 

“I...” Daud starts, overtaken by all that warmth in his body. He suddenly becomes hasty, and impulsive, and oh so foolishly _hopeful_. 

Corvo stops to turn around, almost expectant. 

“Do you…want to share?” Daud blurts out, before quickly adding, “I can’t finish it all.” 

In truth, he’ll probably eat the whole damn plate even if he ends up sick for the rest of the week. 

“Sure.” 

The smile that Corvo flashes at him immediately chases away every single shred of doubt and insecurity left in Daud, and in that exact moment for the first time in his life, he doesn’t think he’s very broken anymore.

\----------

So far, every day since Corvo brought in the hound has started with Ralph asking - no _begging_ \- Daud to keep the hound, the only difference being the number of ‘please’ he adds each time.

And this particular morning, there’s _four_. 

“Can we please, please, please, _please_ keep the hound?” Ralph pleads. 

Daud groans out loud, absolutely hating this. It’s even worse that Corvo is always so amused to watch the daily discussion unfold. 

“How many times have I told you ‘no’?” 

“But Snowy is very well behaved!” 

Daud nearly chokes on the coffee. 

“Who the fuck is Snowy.” 

“Language!” 

“Look, Snowy’s a smart hound. He even knows how to fetch now.” Ralph continues, ignoring everything Daud is saying. 

He gets off the chair and trots over to a corner in the room, picking up some small chewed up toy and presenting it to Sno- the hound. 

The hound starts to wag its tail, watching Ralph closely. 

Ralph grins, throws the toy across the room. 

And the hound is off, sprinting to catch the toy mid-air. It leaps, jaws wide, and clamps down hard, the toy giving off an indignant squeak as it gets trapped between sharp teeth. 

The whalers all coo in unison, some even clapping, while Daud just glares at the floor, eyes already twitching at the strands of white fur he can see as clear as day. 

When he looks back up, Corvo is staring at him, clearly very amused. Daud turns his glare on him, and Corvo smirks in response, while Ralph resumes trying to persuade him into keeping the hound. Daud glares at him too. 

Thankfully, breakfast is over before they know it, and everyone starts to get on with their usual business. 

It’s rest day today, and even Corvo has gone out with some of the whalers, while Daud is the only one who remains in the inn, quietly reading and passing time. 

The book he’s currently reading is about gardening. 

It’s actually quite interesting. 

Daud had no idea that there were so many facets involved in taking care of a single plant. Weeding, pruning…and so much more. He’d always thought those things were low maintenance, requiring nothing but water and sunlight. Well, clearly he’s wrong, and if he wants those plants to bloom nicely and grow for the next few years, he’s going to have to put in much more time and effort than he’d initially estimated it would need. 

He’s reading the chapter about different soil types when all of a sudden, he feels soft nudge against his shin. 

Daud jerks and immediately stares downwards. 

The hound flinches and skitters back like some kind of prey animal, and Daud glares at the patch of white, before inspecting his pants to check for any fur. 

He angrily brushes a few strands off, before resuming his glare at the animal. 

“What the fuck do you want.” Daud barks out, and the hound’s ears droop at his tone, a soft, nearly inaudible whine escaping. 

When the hound doesn’t move, Daud just curses and returns back to reading. He still keeps the hound in his periphery however, he has no intention of dirtying his pants any further with disgusting fur. 

The hound continues to whine, and whine, and whine, until Daud’s patience hits its limit and he slams the book shut. 

The hound jumps at the sound. 

“Will you stop that. Leave me alone. And go find somebody else to annoy.” 

He knows the hound doesn’t understand a thing he’s saying, but animals have very keen senses, and it’s likely that it knows what Daud is feeling based on his body language and tone of voice. 

The hound gets up on its haunches, still looking at Daud. It has stopped whining at least, and Daud gives it a long, stern look before returning back to his book. 

He gets past exactly one paragraph before he glances back up.

The hound is just…sitting there, with that stupidly expectant expression on its face. 

Daud goes back to his book, reads the next paragraph, and looks up. 

Still sitting. Staring.

He reads a full page this time. 

And the hound is _still_ there. 

This continues for a while more, and then Daud absolutely can’t take it anymore that he has to close the book. 

Why can’t he read in peace without this stupid fur brain staring at him like he’s done something wrong? 

Daud doesn’t _owe_ it anything. 

The hound realises that it has gotten Daud’s attention, and its tail starts to wag, clearly very eager. 

Daud rolls his eyes, and catches sight of that slobber-soaked toy that Ralph had used earlier in the morning. 

Actually picking it up is the last thought he has, and he lets the Outsider’s mark on his left hand flare instead, igniting his unused magic for ‘pull’. 

The toy floats in the air, encased by a green tendril, and it stops a few centimetres away from actually touching his skin.

The hound instantly gets excited, tail starting to wag more vigorously. 

Daud rolls his eyes once more. 

He just wants this hound gone, and if this is the only way to get it to stop staring at Daud creepily from the floor like that, so be it. 

Daud sends the toy flying across the room, into the kitchen. 

The animal jumps up and runs after it. 

Such a stupid thing, chasing after a _toy_ , and a few seconds later, Daud hears a piercing squeak that signals the animal has successfully captured the toy in its mouth. 

Good. Maybe it’ll leave Daud alone now, and he’s just about to reach out for his book when the hound comes running out, dropping the toy on the ground and doing that creepy stare at Daud once more. 

Daud lets out a groan. His mark shines, and he flings the toy again. 

The hound comes back within seconds, eyes glittering. 

And then Daud tosses it to the second floor balcony, now getting more irritated. 

He gets exactly one minute of peace before the idiotic furball comes bounding back down, nearly falling off the stairs. 

One minute is still better than nothing, and Daud repeats the ritual, determined to tire the creature out. 

But the hound just keeps coming back, over and over. 

How much energy does this thing even have?? 

The hound returns from its latest fetching trip, tongue out and dripping slobber everywhere. 

Daud automatically ‘pulls’ the toy towards him, preparing to throw it. 

And then he hears a loud gasp from the door. 

“You’re… _playing_ with Snowy.” Ralph exclaims, halfway through the door. 

Daud immediately drops the toy. _Fuck._

“You’re playing with Snowy!! You’re actually playing with Snowy!” Ralph’s voice is starting to rise to a shout, and Daud can only groan out loud. 

“I wasn’t. He- _It_ wouldn’t stop bothering me.” 

“Don’t care. Doesn’t matter. You were _playing_ with him!!” Ralph continues gleefully. 

Daud starts to get more exasperated. Fuck no. 

“Absolutely _not_.” 

“Did too.” 

“Not.” 

“Yes you were!” Ralph is beaming now. “I can’t believe that actually worked. Master Corvo was right!” 

That one sentence irks Daud more than getting caught by Ralph. Of course it was fucking Corvo. Him and his stupid schemes once again! 

To make matters even worse, Feodor, _fucking_ Feodor returns back at that very moment, and Ralph grins at him. Daud curses, knowing he’s royally fucked. 

“Feodor! Feodor! Guess what happened?!” 

“Wait, what. What? Tell me!” 

Ralph grins impishly, before blurting out, 

“I caught Master Daud secretly playing with Snowy! He tried to deny it, but I saw it! _I saw it!!_ ” 

Feodor looks at Ralph, at Daud, at the hound, and lastly at the fallen toy on the ground before he bursts out laughing. 

“That _wasn’t_ what happened!” 

Feodor continues laughing nonetheless, and Daud glares at him as hard as he can, just wishing he can chuck a few grenades at them and save himself from this horrible, _terrible_ misunderstanding. 

This is the absolute worst. 

And needless to say, Feodor tells _everyone_ about it. 

Kent seems very pleased of himself, Thomas laughs, and Zachary actually seems amused – which is the first sort of emotion Daud’s ever gotten from the man. 

“Fuck you.” Is Daud’s insult to them all, and they all just laugh even harder. 

Then lastly, _Corvo_ returns, and Feodor immediately reports to him what happened. 

Corvo gives him exactly one amused glance, and Daud just snaps. 

“All of you are fucking assholes! Especially _you_.” Daud points at Corvo and lets out a low growl. “I’ll drown the whole lot of you in the sea!” 

Corvo suddenly turns away, starting to shake, and it takes Daud a while to realise that Corvo’s actually laughing, laughing at _him_. 

“It’s official, Snowy can stay!” Ralph cheers in a sing-song tone, marching around to announce his victory. 

“I said _no!_ ” 

“Too late! Too bad! You were playing with Snowy which means he can stay!” 

Daud yells another string of profanities at the boy, ignoring how childish it comes across. 

And Corvo shakes even harder, losing control of himself. Daud starts to hear the soft chuckles, dipped in that rich, musical baritone, and all his anger, annoyance, and frustration get swept aside.

“Fucking asshole.” Daud throws at him weakly, even if he doesn’t really mean it. 

Corvo just keeps laughing. 

He’s never realised how much that sound would mean to him until he actually heard it, but now that he’s gotten a taste of it, he wants to hear it again and again. 

Everyone is still laughing at him, and Daud should want to gut all of them and hang their skins up for display, but Corvo’s laughter continues to resonate within him like some kind of symphony, and he’s finding it near impossible to muster up any kind of anger in this situation. 

Daud suddenly decides at that very moment, that making Corvo _happy_ triumphs over so many other things: his hate for fur, his embarrassment, even his pride, and immediately, the decision of whether the hound can stay becomes all too easy to make. 

\----------

The next morning when Corvo wakes up is a quiet one. 

After all that ruckus from yesterday’s spontaneous drinking session (to celebrate Snowy’s new status as a permanent resident), most of the whalers are in bed sleeping off a hangover, and Corvo makes sure to sneak downstairs as quietly as he can to avoid waking any of them. 

To his surprise, the kitchen is empty. The coffee hasn’t been made and there’s no sign of the red-cladded man Corvo has grown to expect. 

He looks around, goes out into the backyard, but Daud is not there either. 

Puzzled, Corvo returns back to the kitchen, leaning against his usual counter and staring into blank space. 

It’s still a little too early for Kent to come down yet, so Corvo goes to play with the cat and the hound instead, stroking the both of them lovingly.

Emily will absolutely adore the animals if she ever came here. And maybe Corvo _should_ bring her here, she’s never gone out travelling much anyway. He’s sure that she’ll love the chance to explore. Getting some exposure to the other isles will do her good anyway. 

She will probably like Ralph, and Kent. Daud…not so much, but Corvo’s sure that even she will warm up to him with enough time. 

And then suddenly, he hears the shuffling of footsteps at the door, belonging to somebody who _wants_ to be heard.

Corvo looks up. 

Daud stands there in his classic red, his hair a little dishevelled more than usual. He looks…normal. 

“Good morning, Corvo.” 

Corvo blinks at him. 

“Good morning, Daud.”

A silence comes, and Daud continues to stand there awkwardly, shifting his weight between both feet. 

“Corvo.” He suddenly calls out. 

Corvo looks up. 

“Yes?” 

“…I uh…” 

Daud averts his gaze, and falls into another silence. 

Growing a little bemused, Corvo continues to watch him, how he’s fidgeting uncontrollably, how he doesn’t meet Corvo’s eyes, and how he’s doing everything with his hands but keeping still. 

Daud’s _nervous_. 

“…Would you-” Daud stops, takes a breath, and starts again. “I mean…”

Daud shuts up immediately, and sighs. 

“What is it?” Corvo cracks a small smile in encouragement. 

“I…bought two tickets. For a ship. To Cullero.” Daud continues to avoid Corvo’s eyes. 

Corvo waits. 

“…If you don’t want to, that’s fine.” Daud adds weakly. 

And a soft, warm feeling buzzes to life within Corvo. 

Whenever Daud does things like this, it does _something_ to Corvo. 

After all that’s happened, the pancakes, the flowers, the hound, and then Daud’s choked up reaction from getting the eclairs, he’s starting to see, just a little, that Daud’s slowly opening up to him. 

He’s starting to see this new side to Daud, a side that cares, a side so tremendously soft that nobody else has gotten to see before. Daud’s always hidden this part of him, sometimes ashamed to show it even, and part of Corvo wants to coax it out, to see more of it, because every time he does, Daud seems to glow. Not so much like a butterfly, but more like a gentle flame in the night. Warm, radiant, and Corvo _likes_ that. 

Jessamine was similar, not entirely the same, but similar, and Corvo used to love the shine she had that made her brighter than anyone else. Seeing her work harder than everybody else, _shine_ brighter than everybody else, she was stunning, and absolutely mesmerising to watch. Corvo was completely taken by her, and more frequently, he’s starting to see those very same flickers in _Daud_.

It’s surprising, and at the same time, almost…endearing. 

The man has been haunted by many traumatic experiences in the past – Corvo doesn’t need to be a mind reader to know that – and he knows how hard it must be for Daud to open up like this. 

He’s afraid to get hurt, he’s probably just as insecure and frightened as Corvo himself is, but at the same time, he still has the courage to _try_. 

Daud wants to put himself forth, to create a better future for himself, to search for something more. 

Corvo’s eyes soften, looking at the man holding the tickets out, who’s still unable to look him in the eye. 

He finally realises…he’s made his decision some time ago, and all he needs now is the same courage Daud is exhibiting to express it. 

Corvo smiles, his fingers brushing against the lump in the inner pocket of his coat. He's gotten it at a whim yesterday while he was outside, but it seems like he didn't get it for nothing after all. 

He knows exactly what he needs to do now.

\----------

Daud wishes the ground can just swallow him whole, or that he can go jump off a cliff.

What is he even _thinking?!_

He was supposed to do this more…discretely. More subtle. But when he saw Corvo in the kitchen, all his meticulous plans evaporated and then _this_ happened. 

The implication of what he wants is too clear, and Daud can’t even attempt to take it back. 

He’s already bracing himself for the rejection, for the ‘no’ that will undeniably break his heart, and he steels himself, readying, readying. 

The silence that follows is the longest one Daud’s been made to endure. 

“Sure.” 

One word, and it breaks through every barrier Daud has frantically tried to hide behind, until he’s completely exposed and Corvo can see him for who he really is. 

“…Really?” Daud asks dumbly. 

Corvo’s eyes are soft, fond maybe, and he nods. 

“Yes.” 

Daud’s heart jumps, and the relief that comes descends down his body like syrup. He pushes the ticket out, hoping that Corvo can’t see that his fingers are trembling. 

“Here.” 

Corvo’s fingers are once again warm as they brush against Daud’s own hand, lingering for a second more than necessary. 

“And…uh…” Daud fumbles. “I also decided to go to Dunwall to speak with Emily. I can go right after this…trip. If that’s fine with you.” 

Corvo smiles at him, and Daud can literally feel his world brighten up at that. 

“She’ll appreciate that. _I_ appreciate that. Thank you.” 

“Thank _you_.” He whispers softly. 

Daud’s mind is still reeling, his heart still thumping, and every fibre in his body is in shock, unable to process what just happened. This must be some kind of dream. 

And then Corvo chuckles once, oblivious to the standstill in Daud’s mind. 

“I was looking for you too, actually.” 

Daud blinks. His heart is roaring in his ears, and it’s hard to hear anything. 

Corvo picks out something from his coat, rolling it between his fingers. It’s something with a stalk, and leaves, and…

Daud has to take a conscious effort to remember how to breathe. 

It’s some sort of flower. 

“It’s for you.” 

Daud’s eyes widen. Huh? 

He doesn’t recognise this flower. It’s a little strange, with small, pinkish blossoms, and leaves shaped like a hand, with long thin fingers of green stretching out. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s called an ambrosia.” Corvo says, eyes unusually intense. 

Daud blinks, puzzled, but reaches out with shaking fingers to take it. 

“Uhm…Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Corvo smiles once more, while Daud stares at the small flower in wonderment. 

This is the second gift he’s gotten. 

His mind is barely keeping up with what’s happening, and as he continues staring at the flower, carefully memorising the exact shade of its petals and the shape of its leaves, he gets choked up all over again. 

He looks up, finding Corvo’s eyes trained on him.

A switch flips in his mind, and the gates drop. 

It comes like a giant flood. 

Overwhelming joy, gratitude, exhilaration, so many things he can’t name, everything comes at once, and Daud drowns in it, his eyes welling up involuntarily at the intensity of it all. 

He thinks of his mother, the one person who should have loved him unconditionally but didn’t, thinks of the heartless person who kidnapped him, thinks of every person that had hurt him, rejected him, told him ‘no’, and then he thinks of _now_ , when somehow, against all logic and reason, the one person he’s hurt more than anyone else is telling him _‘yes’_.

It’s all just too much to bear. 

Corvo continues to watch him, not judging, but curious, and Daud feels the next wave of emotion come, nearly as strong as the first. 

He’s so- 

Daud takes a step forward nearer to Corvo. 

Corvo doesn’t move away, even though he could. Daud expects him to. 

Daud takes another step, until he’s so close to Corvo he could just reach out and touch him, hold him. 

His motive can’t be any clearer, and Daud barely remembers himself, barely remembers to _ask_. 

“Can I-” 

Corvo nods before he even finishes, and doesn’t back away when Daud leans in. 

The air seems to burn when Daud’s lips brush against his, tentatively at first. A small peck, once, twice, just to check, and Corvo still doesn’t move away. And then Daud finally gains enough courage to lean in fully, pressing his lips against Corvo’s. 

He has no idea why he wants this, why it matters, it’s all so foreign to him, but he _does_. He does, and he wants this to last, wants that burning fire within him to come alive, and soak in this very moment for as long as he can. 

Corvo’s lips are warm, soft, infinitely responsive, and very unlike any other time Daud has imagined this happening. This is real, this is actually happening. 

But all that fire and impulse quickly wanes, and Daud realises with growing horror that he is completely and utterly lost. 

He’s so bad at this. 

He’s gotten what he wants and he still has no fucking clue what to do with it. Daud doesn’t realise how tense he is, or that he’s completely frozen until Corvo hums and starts to withdraw.

Daud can’t hide the disappointment from flashing across his face. 

“I…” 

Corvo shakes his head, smiles once, and then leans in again, their lips connecting. His lips capture Daud’s smoothly, changing pressure and movement with ease and practiced fluidity, all somehow remaining insufferably gentle. 

A warm hand drags down the side of Daud’s face – the scarred one – before resting on his jaw, gently pulling and pushing, directing Daud’s face as he wants and changing the angle and force of the kiss. 

Tongue, and then teeth join, and Daud struggles to keep up with the momentum, the rhythm. 

Corvo’s too _good_ at this. 

Nothing about this kiss is demanding, or dominating, or even lustful. It feels…friendly, a little cautious, curious perhaps, and Daud, all too eager to return it, takes Corvo’s jaw in one hand, mirroring Corvo’s every action, all with a certain fiery energy that he knows only _he_ can conjure up. 

He feels Corvo’s lips twitch upwards into a half-smile at Daud’s clumsy attempts to reciprocate, but the man accepts it all with grace, never once making a move to withdraw. 

Daud wants to tell – no, _show_ him - exactly how much this means to him, how much he cares for Corvo, and he deepens the kiss, trying desperately to convey the sentiment. 

Corvo doesn’t resist and takes it all, allowing Daud to lead the kiss as he pleases, no matter how sloppy it must be. Daud pours every bit of emotion he feels into the kiss, all that happiness and gratitude, even his fears, each and every one of them, and he feels Corvo return it, a little cautiously at first, but growing with fervour as he goes. 

And when Daud finally withdraws, blinking open his eyes, it’s as if he’s just woken up from a strange dream. A _good_ dream.

Except that the dream is real, and it’s still going on. 

They just look into each other’s eyes after that, almost in wonder. Not grey meeting brown, but silver meeting gold. 

Both of them pant, trying to catch their breath. Corvo’s face is flushed, not very noticeable from a distance perhaps, but quite obvious in close proximity. Daud’s sure his own face is the same. 

There’s a fresh spark in Corvo’s eyes, something newly erected and sealed into place, the same spark Daud knows Corvo can see in his own eyes. 

An unsaid promise, a connection, a _bond_. 

That’s his answer then right?

A _yes_. 

Daud’s heart swells, and there is a silence as they both take time to process this change. 

“I’m surprised.” Corvo says first. 

Daud raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re a fast learner.” 

Daud narrows his eyes but says nothing. His other arm has somehow found its way down to Corvo’s waist without him even realising during the kiss, but Corvo doesn’t seem to mind, and Daud lets his arm stay, feeling the expanse of Corvo’s muscles stretching over his frame, moving up and down with every breath. 

He’s so warm. 

Daud could stay there forever. 

And- 

“…Uhm…So if you two are done…uh…let me know. Breakfast doesn’t make itself.” Kent’s voice suddenly rings out. 

Daud startles hard like a rat caught stealing food, and he lets go of Corvo immediately, backing away to the edge of the furthest counter. Meanwhile, Corvo doesn’t react at all, lips moist, still holding the ticket in between his fingers. 

“Fuck.” He curses, just as Kent walks in. 

Kent flashes Daud a knowing smile as he comes in, and Daud would have normally taken offence at that, except he’s a little too satisfied at the moment to do so. 

Kent makes no comment however, and he starts to make breakfast. Daud goes to make the coffee as per usual, while Corvo returns to the counter, watching the two of them in silence.

Daud can’t help but notice that Corvo’s gaze lingers on him much more than usual, and he privately smiles.

It’s a _yes_. 

Corvo’s given him a _yes_.

\----------

“Does he know?” Kent asks Corvo after breakfast, while watching Daud clean up the latest layer of fur on the floor with that signature scowl on his face.

“Hm?” 

“The flower. Does he know what it means?” 

Corvo chuckles once. He isn’t embarrassed, and doesn’t try to hide it either. He’s all honesty, unlike Daud who would probably deny it at every turn. 

“No, he doesn’t.” 

“Ah…I thought so.” 

Corvo just shrugs, and Kent laughs too, staring fondly at the rugged man he considers as _family_. 

It’s been such a long journey for both Corvo and Daud, and nothing makes him happier than seeing Daud finally find his own happiness. 

It’s not the end, barely a new beginning for them both, and he’s very much looking forward to seeing how their relationship will develop in the future. 

But first, he needs to teach Daud about _flowers_.

\----------

“…You never told me.” Daud says many days later, on board a ship to Cullero.

It’s nice to be away from Karnaca for a change.

Daud’s forgotten how much he likes the feel of the wind against his face, and the salt in the air. Travelling is pleasant, he decides, and he hopes he can get to do this more in the future.

Preferably not alone. 

“Hm?” 

Corvo is a warm presence beside him as he watches the waves rolling over the horizon. 

“The flowers. You never-” Daud swallows. “You never told me what they were. What they _meant_.” 

A slow smile inches its way up Corvo’s face. It still drives Daud crazy, no matter how often he sees it. 

“Oh?” 

“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? And that stupid florist. If I had known what they meant-” Daud immediately cuts himself short, and sighs. “I…I didn’t know.” He finishes lamely. 

Corvo takes pity on him, and turns to face him properly. 

“So you know what gladiolus means now.” 

“…Yes.” Daud swallows hard. 

Gladiolus, commonly known as ‘sword lilies’ for their trademark sword-shaped leaves, and as a gift, they symbolise strength, moral integrity, _honour_ and- 

_Piercing the giver’s heart with passion_. 

When Kent first dumped the book on flowers to him, Daud had been very confused, until he actually opened it and started reading. 

His next reaction was to blush even harder than a noble lady getting courted for the first time, and to throw said book at Kent’s head (who yelped in pain, and then smugly said “worth it”). 

It’s still very strange though. Nothing of it is untrue, in fact, it’s all frighteningly accurate. Gladiolus is exactly the kind of flower he would choose to describe Corvo – both before and after reading the book.

“…It suits you.” Daud finds himself saying. “Everything it means, _I_ mean it.” 

Taken aback for a moment, Corvo blinks at him a few times, before smiling. 

“The ambrosia means what it means too.” 

It’s Daud’s turn to be surprised. 

Ambrosia. When Daud started flipping through the book he got from Kent, his heart was racing when he was turning to the page on ambrosias. 

It was a long, wordy page, and it went on about the flowers’ appearance, its different colours, and finally –

The meaning: _reciprocated feelings_. 

For a long moment, Daud can’t think of a suitable response. 

Everything they’ve been through comes back in a flash. 

Killing Jessamine. Meeting Corvo for the first time when he was poisoned and weak. Taunting him. Getting choked out and not understanding _why_. Meeting him a year later, the animosity between them making even the air _bleed_. Fighting each other at every turn and corner. Seeing Billie. Taking down the Leviathan Children together. 

And finally… _this_. 

It hurts still, to think of all that history, but at the same time, Daud knows that no other set of experiences would have made him into who he is today. He needed to go through all that to finally find himself again, and in some ways, he can say that he’s _grateful_. 

Daud settles for: 

“…You’re a mystery, Corvo Attano.”

“And you can’t allow it?” Corvo teases back, eyes glittering. 

Daud looks at him. A mystery, a riddle, an enigma, so full of secrets. It drives him mad, even though it’s been years. It always will, he suspects, but at the same time, he knows he won’t mind it. Not anymore.

He’s a mystery, but he’s also _Daud’s_ mystery. 

“I’ll allow it.” Daud hears himself saying, and he steps forward into Corvo’s space. 

Corvo doesn’t pull away. 

Daud’s hand slides into place at Corvo’s waist, and he leans in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have spent the last half an hour or so thinking of what I should write here, but nothing can really express what I feel about finally finishing this story.
> 
> I'm so happy that I'm able to finally share this last chapter with all of you. After so long, Corvo and Daud's long journey to find peace has finally ended, and I hope you will find it as satisfying as I did to write it. 
> 
> So thank you so much to all of you that have supported me, encouraged me, and motivated me throughout the fic. Your support was what made this entire fic possible, and there was absolutely no way I could have finished writing this without it. 
> 
> It's been a long journey, but a very exciting one for me, and I'm glad that I could write this fic and share it with you guys. 
> 
> :) 
> 
> Thank you for everything!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying a different writing style for this story, so any comments for improvements would be greatly appreciated. Hope you enjoy nonetheless!


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